Noble Trouble
by Lilith Duvare
Summary: On that faithful night, instead of running after Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black chose another route and changed the future of the Wizarding World and with it unknowingly turned Noah Puckerman's life upside down. AU! Slash
1. Part 1

**Noble Trouble**

Title:_Noble Trouble_

Author: _Lilith Duvare_

Fandom: _Harry Potter/Glee_

Pairing: _Harry Potter/Noah Puckerman_

Rating: **M**

Genre: _ Romance, Drama, General, Humour_

Warnings: _AU!(Voldemort dies and several other characters don't), Slash, homophobia, bullying, cursing, discrimination_

Summary: _On that faithful night, instead of running after Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black chose another route and changed the future of the Wizarding World and with it unknowingly turned Noah Puckerman's life upside down. _

Disclaimer: _I'm not famous or rich, so no everything still belongs to J.K. Rowling, FOX and Ryan Murphy and his gang. _

Author's Note: Before anyone asks, no, I have not abandoned **Swan Heart**, but I just had to write this. I hope you're going to like it, because this is nothing like you've ever read when it comes to a Harry Potter/Glee crossover. This idea is wild and set in an Alternative Universe, but I don't want to spoil the fun. If you are familiar with the books you'll know what I mean or changed.

**Dedication:** This story is entirely dedicated to _**popupman**_ because he deserves it for listening to my ramblings and being a wonderful if a bit evil muse. So I know it's really late and everything, but Happy Birthday and thank you for being there! I hope you'll enjoy it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Part I. – A Change in History<strong>_

**October 31****th**** 1993, Godric's Hollow**

Sirius Black stood over the lifeless body of his best friend, devastated rage twisting his otherwise striking features into a horrifying mask, silently vowing revenge against the traitor who betrayed their family and destroyed a decade of friendship for glory and personal greed. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the frozen horror on James' face, hazel eyes empty and robbed of the ever present mischievous gleam; he was afraid to see what happened to Lily and little Harry, because there was no way they could have gotten away no matter how much Sirius would have liked to believe.

Long, tanned fingers clenched around the dark mahogany wand as Sirius finally gathered the courage to leave his friend behind and head for the stairs, expecting more destruction and death, but deep down still trying to hope to see his godson and James' wife alive and well. He walked by the open door of Lily and James' bedroom; it was empty and relatively intact – except for the broken windows – and the exact opposite of the once cheerful and bright nursery that lay before him completely destroyed with Lily Potter's broken body as its centre.

Sirius bit back an anguished scream, cursing himself for being so stupid, for letting a coward like Peter to bear the weight of such a huge secret and squelching the urge to go after the spineless bastard and tearing him to pieces. He would do it, he promised his blazing fury, he would torture the disgusting rat and revel in the high pitched pathetic screams like a good Dark wizard was meant to do, but he had to wait. He had to see his godson, his tiny, adorable little pup for one last time; he had to say his goodbyes and strengthen his vow...

A small whimper pulled him out of his dark musings, a weak barely audible sound, and Sirius' head snapped up, shattered grey eyes seeking out the source of the sound, not daring to hope that it could be possible. Yet the next whimper was stronger and unmistakeable and caused him to flee across the room in a mad search for the crying baby, his wand slicing and stabbing through the air to clear the sight before him until he found his Harry's shivering and twitching form under the protection of a pile of rag-like curtains and blankets.

He could hardly choke back the sobs that welled up in his throat, his wand carelessly slipping from his fingers as he reached forward to touch the soft tuft of raven curls that couldn't hide the angry red scar on the boy's forehead. Red rimmed glowing green eyes blinked open at his touch, his godson recognising him instantly and reaching out with his small chubby hands causing Sirius to act without thinking and lift the petite body up cradling it to his chest in a desperate attempt to assure himself it was real and Harry, his sweet little Harry was alive.

He couldn't think straight, fear and venomous rage messing his head up beyond repair, however, even through the fog of his broken thoughts he knew he couldn't live his godson there.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, repeating that one word like an endearment, still caressing the soft hair under his fingers and listening to the soft hiccups of the child in his arms. He had to do something; he didn't exactly know why, but he could feel the need to hide his godson, hide him from the world's eye and the Dumbledore's claws, because that scar on his forehead was not normal. "My Harry, my little pup... No... no... no."

He didn't really know what he was doing, his body working by sheer instincts as he summoned his wand and calling forward powers he thought he had long forgotten. Yet the incantations fell from his lips like it was only yesterday when his father shared ancient secrets with him in the confines of the Black library hidden from the shrewd gaze of his mother and his little brother who was too young and too innocent to hear such things. He shushed the babe while he pricked his tiny finger and taking a few drops of his blood his attention never wavering from the slowly emerging form by his feet.

Sirius knew he had not much time left, Dumbledore and his cronies would not stay away for much longer and they needed to leave before they arrived. He wasn't sure why or how he knew this; his instincts were going haywire and compelling him to act without really giving any explanation at all. He could almost see the magic crackling around him; the dark and heady power so familiar and welcoming even after all those years he spent denying his craving for it.

He spared a glance at the charred lump on the other end of the room, his blurred vision noticing a blackened skull and a molten cape before he forced himself to turn away from the nauseating sight, not connecting the dots that carried the harsh and impossible sounding truth, deciding to focus on the lifeless replica of his godson. He took in the similarities and clutched the softly babbling baby closer in an attempt to make sure he was there and it was not just his crazed mind playing petty tricks with him.

He murmured reassuring words in the soft hair and with a deep breath he levitated the "dead" child closer to his best friend's wife, the picture of the sacrificed mother and son breaking his heart despite the knowledge that it wasn't exactly real. Because Harry was there and alive, small finger clutching his robe and a pair of rosy lips sniffling against his neck, coating the already damp skin with slick baby saliva.

Somebody threw open the remnants of the door downstairs and a moment later a booming wail filled the trashed room causing Sirius to cringe and collect some of his wits at least for a second; he had to get away before the intruder came upstairs and saw him and Harry. And no one could see Harry.

No.

No.

No.

Magic crackled around him once again, gathering and sizzling like the beginning of a thunderstorm before he was whisked away, his barely conscious mind pleading to the Ancestors that they survived the journey in one piece...

**[HP/Glee]**

Orion Black was a ruthless man, but he always prided himself in placing his family in front of everything else. He sold his very soul and life to acquire the position as the Head of the Family – it was his birthright as his father used to say – and murdered his own wife to save his son from being turned into nothing more than a useless slave in an insane madman's court. He never regretted anything, because in a true Black's eyes fighting for your blood was the most important thing; and Orion had done that, made sure nothing and no one could touch his family.

So it was only expected that he reacted with instant vengeance when someone intruded his carefully crafted wards and broke into his home; a cruel, most painful curse almost dripping from his lips only to freeze and die a moment later when he recognized his older son in the pitiful hunched figure in the middle of the entrance hall. Sirius was crouching down, unintelligible words blurring into a haze of nonsense in his mouth as he whispered to something in his arms, something small and fragile and oh so breakable that it caused Orion to stop in his tracks and stare for a second in an attempt to understand what was before his very eyes.

It was a child, a little boy with noticeable Black characteristics, sleeping soundly in the wayward Black heir's embrace like nothing in the world mattered or was important enough to gain his attention. He was a very attractive child, the profile of his face already gaining a definition despite the still obvious baby-fat, just like any Black child's face should, however, there was something achingly familiar in the arch of the brow and the chin, a touch of softness that was so different from the Blacks' sharp angles...

"Why have you brought the Potter heir here, dressed in rags?" the Black Patriarch asked regally, his tone carrying none of his doubt and surprise.

Sirius raised his head and levelled his father with a flat, empty look sending the older man's heart into a worried frenzy. Just what had happened? "Dead..." Sirius rattled, but that simple word was enough for Orion to understand. After all the disappearance of the Potter family had been one of the most sought after topic amongst higher members of the Wizarding Society, not to mention the hysteria it caused in the Middle Class.

"Stand up, Sirius, you are no commoner to kneel on the floor," Orion ordered, half-expecting his son's well-known disobedient side to strike again, however, Sirius struggled to his feet, his mouth still forming incomprehensible, silent words as he walked forward basically falling into Orion's chest seeking the warmth and comfort he used to find there when he was a little boy himself.

"They're dead... empty... killed... Father," Sirius was suddenly sobbing and choking on his tears at the same time; his mind long gone, lost to the greedy sea of grief.

Orion's arms encircled the shuddering form of his elder son and closed his eyes, revelling in the feeling of his blood resting against his body after years spent apart. "Hush now," he chided gently, a tone no one ever heard from him aside from his boys. "You're at home. At home, my child."

"Harry–" came the desperate answer. "Please... Father."

"Hush, Sirius." This time Orion's voice was firmer and less soothing. "You both are safe," he added and with a firm hold around his son's shoulder he led the younger wizard down the hall.

He wasn't surprised when he saw Regulus in the parlour sitting on the sofa with his back straight as an arrow and just as tense, but standing up the moment he noticed their presences, his charcoal eyes widening just slightly at the sight of his brother.

"Father?" Regulus sounded unsure, his concern showing in his voice for once.

"Tell Kreacher to prepare your brother's room with the utmost care and to draw a hot bath for him as well," Orion ordered his youngest, ignoring the shift look he shot at the still sleeping babe in Sirius' hold.

Regulus bowed slightly, biting back his questions and complied to his father's commands while Orion helped his firstborn to sit on his sibling's vacated spot taking the unnaturally pale face between his hands and forcing the young man to look at him. "You are going to take a bath then sleep. We'll talk in the morning," he said, carefully pronouncing every syllable.

"Harry–"

"Is going to bed with you. Now shush, my son. I'm going to take care of you."

**November the 1****st**** 1993, Grimmauld Place, London**

Sirius didn't want to open his eyes, because it would have made the hollow emptiness in his chest all too real, and he was too much of a coward to face reality. His best friend... No. It must have been a nightmare; James and little Harry were alright, and they would laugh at his craziness when he told them about it. There was just no way that Wormtail–

A startled gasp was torn from his lungs as fire like hatred flared through his veins, snapping his eyes open and causing reality to crash down on his head without warning. James, Prongs was dead as was Lily, and Harry... He made sure no one could find Harry, ever. Yes, Harry was safe and alive, alive...

Glassy grey orbs slid to the slight form of his godson who was actually sitting in the middle of the bed and watching him, his all too intelligent green eyes aware and oddly knowing, yet still remaining innocent and sweet as a toothy grin formed on the cherry lips. "Paddy," Harry uttered reaching out for him. "Paddy."

"I'm here pup," Sirius breathed, pulling the little body in his lap and squeezing his eyes shut to get rid of the still raging volcano, because it was not time for revenge. Not yet. "You're going to live a perfect life, away from the cruelty of our world. You're going to be safe and strong... You're going to rule this World one day..."

He caressed the angry red scar on the child's forehead, ignoring the quiet whimper for a second before he replaced his finger with his lips, kissing the scar, the last memento of the terror and destruction that was caused by Voldemort.

It was over.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, causing his head to snap to the side only to see the unforgettable face of his little brother. "It's time to get up, Sirius," Regulus urged in his quiet voice. "The young Potter needs to eat and bathe."

"It's over, Reg," Sirius whispered in answer. "It's finally over."

Pale lips pressed together for a second, his sibling's only sign of confusion, before Regulus nodded his head and curled his fingers around his left wrist. "Good. Now come."

Sirius didn't know why he let himself dragged around, half-mindedly listening to Harry's subdued babble and watching the dark, ominous walls of his family home without really seeing anything. He felt strangely catatonic, his heart stolen and destroyed, and only reacted when strong hands tried to take his godson away from him.

He snarled and growled, reaching for his wand that wasn't there, but his brother snapped at him, using a tone so alike their father's making him obey without really meaning to. It was demeaning to know, he could still fall under Orion Black's command and power, it killed the last remnants of his adolescent arrogance, because what had he been thinking? He had never been his own man and despite all the fights and resistance, he would never be.

"Sit down." He did, staring at his rapidly filling plate, hating the feeling of uselessness, but having no will to break it. "Now eat and after that we shall talk."

It was his father this time, the hint of iron and sweet honey in his voice giving him away, but Sirius didn't look up, didn't acknowledge the older wizard's presence, just raised his fork to put some eggs in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, never once tasting anything on his tongue, slipping deeper and deeper into depression without the only anchor that was able to chain him to the World of the Living.

"Stop the melodrama, Sirius and look at me!" Orion commanded sternly, his stormy eyes flashing dangerously. "This is no time for wallowing in self-pity and grief. You brought a child to my house, the child of my cousin and the future Head of a Noble House. I would appreciate if you explained yourself."

Explain, his father said.

"Voldemort is dead," he blurted out bluntly an angry sneer marring his lips. "James is dead. Lily is dead. They're dead. Dead. Dead!" He didn't notice how his voice raised and turned hysteric. Something shattered on the floor next to him, but he couldn't care less, because they were dead and left him behind to avenge their tragedy. James left him behind... Lost.

His father didn't show any sign of distress as he watched him throwing a tantrum like a naughty, spoiled child. He simply lifted a perfectly shaped brow and asked, "How did the child survive?"

"Harry."

"Harry, then."

Sirius scowled, hearing the distaste towards the less than noble name, but Orion was waiting, patient and unmoved as always, his soft heart buried under the wall of ruthless coldness. "You know. You can feel it."

"Say it, my child." It wasn't request and he couldn't fight the weight of those words. He was still a member of the family no matter how his mother wanted to believe otherwise. His father hadn't abandoned him.

"He survived the curse. He survived..." He couldn't bear it; that gaze was too much, looking through him knowing and owning him beyond everything, the bonds of blood singing and tightening around his soul. "The Killing Curse."

There was a sharp intake breath, but it didn't came from the Black Patriarch; Regulus was standing in the doorway, his charcoal eyes wide and disbelieving, yet suddenly understanding as they flickered down onto the scarred forehead of the baby in his arms.

"He is just a child," he whispered. "And the Dark Lord–"

"Was an arrogant, worthless mongrel who believed himself above everyone else," Orion spat, disgusted. "Stop gawking like a fish out of water, it's most unbecoming of you. The child needs to be fed."

"Yes, father," Regulus complied taking his seat on his father's right and seating Harry on his lap.

Sirius hands balled into fists even though he knew he had to let his godson go. He would be safe with his family, safe and happy. They would teach him how to follow the Old Ways properly, how to become someone that was worth following, someone that could destroy and conquer all of his enemies. They would teach him the ways of a True Lord, because it was Harry's birthright.

Yet, the rightness of his own broken actions didn't lessen the pain of losing the last true link he had with his best friend. It didn't lessen the guilt in his hollow chest for never realising what was going on, for his moronic suggestion of switching the Secret Keeper... It was his fault and he had to make things right. Had to pay for his foolishness–

Kreacher popped into the room with a dramatic bow, offering the Daily Prophet to his Master who nodded in dismissal a sardonic smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the headline. "I see Dumbledore has already declared the Freedom of Our Nation," he commented idly. "Raising a dead child to a nonexistent pedestal, how plebeian, don't you think, Regulus?"

Sirius looked at his brother, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood, however Regulus was busy feeding little Harry with small apple and pear cubes to pay any attention to him. "Indeed, father. Dumbledore's style became even more distasteful in his old age. Muggle loving old fool."

"I have to agree. Sacrificing an old Noble family just like that..." Orion shook his head in disapproval making Sirius' blood boil at his father's careless detachment, failing to notice the sharp gleam in the steely irises. "But nothing is over quite yet." Out of nowhere his father's attention focused on him a touch of earnest tenderness mixing into the cold facade of the striking mask. "He is going to pay, my child, pay for your loss and his crimes against our Society."

It was a vow, like the one he made the night before and the mere knowledge calmed his frazzled mind. "Thank you, father." He bowed his head to hide the tears that filled his eyes. It seemed despite what he thought, he still had a heart. "Ask anything–"

"Good boy," Orion smiled in approval. "However, we have more important things to concentrate on at the moment. Such as proving your innocence to the World."

"You forget the liquidating the slanderers of the Black name," Regulus added, a dark smile adorning his handsome face.

"Of course, but it's nothing your brother has to concern himself with. For now." Thunderstorm eyes froze him on the spot, the family bonds activating in his blood once again. "You take your time to grieve, Sirius. Embrace your demons and slaughter them at once, like a true Black should, because you are going to be an unstoppable force in our war against Degradation."

It was an order that gave him something to live for. A plan slower, but crueller and more effective than his own bloodlust filled, half-formed plots that included killing the traitor with his bare hands. A True Black was never blinded by their instincts and such lowly urge as lust. A True Black was always patient and obliterated their enemies with precisely calculated coldness. It was something ingrained in every Black child's heart and blood, it was unavoidable and unstoppable; the only reason Sirius hadn't gone after Peter Pettigrew the moment he laid his eyes on the lifeless body of his best friend.

A lethal smile curled his lips as the broken pieces of his soul started to frost over. He would do this; he would stop fighting against his true nature. After all there was no one to tie him to the "Light Side" anymore.


	2. Part 2

_**Part II. – Child Prodigy**_

**May the 12****th**** 1998, Chateau de Black, Paris, France**

"I see you are as devoted to your studies as ever," a voice commented from the doorway, causing the little boy in the comfortable armchair to look up and offer a soft, eager smile to the newcomer.

"Knowledge is power, Uncle Sirius. Power a True Black always knows how to use," the child quoted earnestly, almost unearthly green eyes glinting in amusement. "I'm glad you came."

"I promised, didn't I?" Sirius smirked devilishly as he stepped into the library and took the seat across from his godson. "I see my father keeps you busy."

"Naturally, I'm the youngest Black Heir after all." The boy raised his small chin proudly, and still he managed to pull the act off without an ounce of arrogance. It was a mere statement of the truth. "I hope you're staying," he changed the topic out of sudden, his voice becoming more high pitched and childish; more suited for a five-year-old. "Papa promised you would teach me riding an Abraxan if I was able to charm every light in the room green."

"Your Papa promised, huh?" Sirius snorted softly, but the smile didn't leave his lips. Only his godson would take a task like that seriously. Still he didn't want to deflate the child's enthusiasm. "And a True Black never backs down from a challenge."

"Of course not! I made the lights green!" the boy grinned with shining eyes. "Every one of them! Though Grandfather became expectionally furious when he learned about it. He even called Papa a fool..."

The older man's expression darkened as he realised what the child was implying. "Your father can be thankful I wasn't here to curse his arse to the next decade," he gritted out. "Allowing you to practice magic without consulting with someone beforehand. What was he thinking?"

"Papa has been there all the while," the boy argued, pursing his pink lips, unknowingly copying his father's habit. "But I'm not a baby anymore. I can handle myself."

"No one questioned your competence, Harry," Sirius said, reproaching his godson gently.

"No one calls me that name anymore." It was still strange, knowing that the five-year-old could still recall the time when his name didn't follow the Black tradition and honoured a star. But Harry, or Rastaban, as Orion named him, remembered his old name; the only thing remaining of his past aside from a desperate scream and a sharp green light.

"They wouldn't," Sirius agreed, reaching over the small table and running his fingers through the feather-like ink black tresses. "To the world, your name is Rastaban Lycoris Black. But to me, you are Harry, my sweet little Harry, and nothing can change this fact."

"But only to you," Harry whispered as he leaned into the touch, enjoying the rare moment he could spend in the company of his uncle.

Sirius was never there. He was busy, his Papa said, ensuring the power of the Black family and making preparations. For what, he never said, but the answer was always the same, spiking the little boy's curiosity more and more. Sadly there were no clues, not in the lilt of his Papa's tone or on his striking face. No, his Papa was a True Black and his mask was perfect, something Rastaban was determined to achieve one day.

He knew his uncle was deeply involved in the British Politics, being backed up by the Malfoy and Davies Houses. He even heard – while secretly eavesdropping on his Papa and Grandfather's conversation one day during his recess time – that Lady Zabini and the young Lord Nott were considering allying themselves with the family. So it was obvious that Uncle Sirius was a busy man, but it didn't mean that Rastaban didn't miss his presence and the spark of mischievousness that was buried under layers and layers of slyness and dark charm.

His Papa once called Uncle Sirius a snake in lion cloth, something that confused Rastaban until he learned that his uncle had been a Gryffindor during his time at Hogwarts, a place he would never see if his family had anything to say about it.

"_It's the centre of Degradation, my child,"_ his Grandfather told him once and at that time Rastaban didn't understand what those words meant, and even now, years later he was not sure.

"I brought you something," Sirius spoke up, breaking the blissful silence making the young child to open his eyes. "I think you're going to find it to your liking."

A thick, dark purple velvet bound book appeared on the top of the table, the silver embroider telling a never ending and always changing story of mythical creatures and heroic knights giving Rastaban a good clue what the creamy parchment pages hid. "A fairytale book. Why?"

"Because you need something that reminds you that despite your sharp mind and sophisticated tongue, you are still a child," Sirius stated offering a smile he rarely showed even to his family. "I'm sure your Papa would be delighted to read them for your."

"Are they about magic?" Glowing green eyes shone with excitement, an unusual show of childishness coming from the reserved young Black Heir.

"You'll have to wait and see, my Harry. Just wait and see."

**April the 1****st**** 1999, Chateau de Black, Bretagne, France**

"What were you thinking?" Regulus whispered harshly, his wand pointed at his father, forcing the older wizard to take a step back. "How could you send him to that place, knowing our enemies–"

"He was supposed to be safe," Orion retorted coldly, his grey eyes unforgiving as he tried to force Regulus into submission. However, this time Regulus was having none of it.

"That little, worthless piece of trash tortured him! Used the Cruciatus curse on him, Father! And you say he was _supposed_ to be safe?" Regulus shot back, fury lacing his tone, but his father only raised his chin haughtily and sneered in answer.

"You can rest assured, I've already dealt with the culprit accordingly," came the derisive response and those words were enough to set Regulus' blood aflame. Dark red sparks shot out of his wand in warning and he snarled like a cornered animal, his usual gentle facade long forgotten.

He wanted to make his father suffer for those words; he wanted the blasted man to scream just like Rastaban screamed when that bastard put him under that curse. He could still see the wild brown irises that practically devoured his little boy's writhing body, and that wide, smug grin that basically split that arrogant, pale face upon hearing Rastaban's heart-wrenching screams of agony.

Regulus' fingers twitched in agitation, and he had to take a deep breath to prevent himself from actually uttering that unforgivable word. "You disgust me," he spat, drawing great satisfaction from the stricken expression that overcame his father's face. It only lasted for a second before the usual frozen mask slipped back into its place and he opened his mouth, but Regulus wasn't done speaking. "You can't solve everything with revenge and devious master plans that ruin at least a dozen people's lives. I practically begged you to reconsider sending him to Bauxbatons, but you went along with your fucked up plan nonetheless."

He didn't raise his voice, mindful of his son's still unconscious form lying motionlessly in the bed next to him. A cold little hand was clasped between his much bigger fingers, and if he hadn't heard the slow, even rhythm of Rastaban's heartbeat in the back of his mind, he would have almost believed his child was gone and lost to them all.

Regulus suppressed a despaired shudder at the thought of losing the little boy who he fell in love with the moment Sirius brought him to their old home. He sent a venomous glare to Orion, however, his father was staring at Rastaban, his facade slowly melting away only to be replaced by resignation and sadness.

"I believed I was doing the right thing," Orion said softly, walking closer to the bed and sitting down next to Regulus despite the faintly glowing wand still trained at him. "He needs to learn restrain and Bauxbatons–"

"Just shut up, old man," Sirius snarled from the doorway, only to appear in front of their father and yank him up by the front of his robes. "I want to rip you apart with my bare hands like a common animal and you have no idea how much it hurts not to do so."

Even with their father partly hiding him from view, Regulus could see the terrifying mask that twisted his brother's features into something barely human. And still, despite the disrespectful words and threatening posture, Orion did nothing to stop his elder son's acid laced tirade. Unfortunately, it only seemed to fuel Sirius' fury and if they hadn't stood so close to Rastaban's bed he would have probably punched their father or have done something worse.

A part of Regulus wanted to intervene and prevent his brother from doing something he would regret later, but if he wanted to be honest, Orion deserved every hateful word and so much more for what he had done. It didn't matter that the whole castle echoed that piece of scum's screeches and pleas for mercy, because avenging the crime against Regulus' only child did not reverse the damage or the guilt Regulus felt for being too weak to stand up for his own ideas.

Sirius was still cursing and raving, not letting go of their father, allowing Regulus the chance to take in the deathly pale skin and sunken cheeks of his child. He looked even smaller than usually, seemingly lost in the huge bed surrounded by a plethora of softly humming monitoring spells and the thrumming power that was purely Rastaban, and Regulus needed every bit of his self-control to stop himself from reaching out and touching the pulsating magic that caressed and protected Rastaban even though the boy was in a healing coma.

Regulus closed his eyes thinking about what could have happened if Aubrey Chaville – the youngest heir of the Chaville House, a lower class Light family that had professed their less than favourable opinion about the Blacks on several occasion – had just been a little older or had had above average affinity for magic. Although the fact that he had managed to keep Rastaban under Cruciatus for almost a full minute made Regulus question just how Light the Chaville Family was. True, Rastaban had written about the hatred Chaville seemingly held for him, but no one thought that the fourteen-year-old little shit would be foolish enough to cast an Unforgivable on anyone, especially not on the Heir of one of the most prominent pureblood families.

"Never again," Regulus whispered gently stroking the curly mass that was his child's hair. "You are going to show them, that no one can question your power and position, but not before the time is right," he added with a grim smile, then turned back to his brother who finally let their father go. "Hire the best tutors for him, Sirius. I want the best for him, because obviously we can't trust our father with Rastaban's education anymore."

He could see as Orion's hands clenched into fists, but their father had always been a wise man who knew when to pick a fight and who was a True Black through and through. And maybe someday Regulus would be able to forgive his arrogance and stubbornness, but for now, the man lost his privilege to have any say in his grandson's upbringing.

Sirius closed the distance between them, crouching down and brushing a reassuring kiss against his lips. "As you wish, little brother," he whispered, his thundery gaze full of tender affection. "He's going to be alright."

"He is strong and a Black, of course he is going to be alright," Regulus agreed offering a kiss of his own. "I'm here and not leaving him ever again."

**November the 22****th**** 1999, Chateau de Black, Bretagne, France**

"Good morning, Rastaban, how have you been?" Rastaban raised his gaze from his lap, greeting the woman in the doorway with a swift nod.

"Fine." His reply was curt as always, showing no more willingness to cooperate than before.

Rosemary Davies – Roger Davies' Muggleborn mother who worked as a mind healer at St. Mungo's – had been a constant addition to the Black household ever since the incident back in March, because Rastaban's papa and Uncle Sirius were worried about him, which, in Rastaban's opinion, was entirely unfounded. He was fine and had learnt his lesson from the incident with Chaville and Villeneuve. Maybe he was acting even more reserved and sometimes seemed to be lost to the real world, but unlike what his Papa thought, he wasn't reliving the horrors of pure, white agony, but going over the symptoms of the Cruciatus curse itself, doing extensive research and pouring over even more books than usually, trying to come up with ways to either lessen the pain or turn it into something else entirely.

Unfortunately, so far he couldn't come up with anything remotely useful aside from the realisation that the Unforgivables were called that for a reason. But he wouldn't give up even if it meant that he had to endure Mrs. Davies invasive nagging and his family concerned glances, no matter how frustrated he was with them.

Mrs. Davies came by on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday and spent an hour and a half spouting of questions about Rastaban's day, hobbies, thoughts even going so far to ask about a possible crush which was utterly ridiculous and only had proven Rastaban's theory about the woman's ineptitude. A part of him wanted to ask his Papa to stop this nonsense, but he couldn't very well tell Regulus or even Sirius about his project, because both of them tended to be way too overprotective especially these days, and the therapy sessions were the perfect disguise to continue his work undisturbed.

He watched as Mrs. Davies took her usual place across from him with barely veiled disinterest. She took her notebook and a pencil out of her bag, offering a benign smile to Rastaban that didn't sooth the young wizard at all.

"I thought maybe we could talk about your school work today," she said causing Rastaban's suspicion to rise even more. Green eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the pleasantly interested expression on the witch's face, wondering what she could know only to be placated a moment later when she asked her first question. "How do you like elementary school so far?"

Rastaban bit back a snarky retort and kept up his blank mask. "It's useless and I'm surrounded by inept toddlers," he replied coolly earning a downtrodden look from the mind healer.

"I'm sure they are not that bad," Mrs. Davies tried again. "Have you made any friends so far? And what do you think about your classes?"

Rastaban only stared at the woman as if she had lost her mind. He didn't mind Muggles and admired the aptitude for technology, science and medicine, but it didn't mean he was going to start fraternizing with a bunch of blubbering imbeciles who couldn't read or write.

Regrettably, he couldn't very well tell this to the witch, which left him with the option of making up something that fit his current state of trauma induced antisocial behaviour. "I prefer my private tutors."

Mrs. Davies let out a small sigh. "Rastaban, you need to start interacting with children your age. I can understand you feel more secure and balanced here, however, it's not a healthy way to live your life. Your father and uncle are concerned about your fear of initiating human contact."

That was low even for her, but maybe he should have expected her to pull the family card at some point in an attempt to coerce him into something he had no desire to do. He thought about upping his stubbornness a notch or two, but it would only give her another reason to fill his Papa's head with nonsense therefore making him worry even more.

He hated this situation and that his father still hadn't forgiven his grandfather. Orion understood him and his need to improve himself without any outer intrusion, and in turn Rastaban understood his grandfather's reasons for pushing him to his limits and weaving nefarious plans to secure the Blacks' place in the Wizarding World. It didn't mean he didn't see his Papa's point behind trying to bring him out of his shell, but Regulus' good intentions only hindered Rastaban's progress and didn't help him in the least.

His Papa was guilt ridden and constantly tried to make up for not realising what was happening until it was too late. Rastaban could see the shadows that marred the charcoal eyes because Regulus was unable to prevent Chaville from using the Cruciatus and Orion from sending Rastaban to Bauxbatons. And Rastaban wanted nothing more than to reassure his Papa that it was alright and he was fine, but if there was one thing common between him and his father then it was the endless stubbornness that prevented them from stopping until they fulfilled any promise they made.

Mrs. Davies cleared her throat, once again writing something in her notebook, pulling Rastaban out of his thoughts. "You seem occupied," she said kindly, fishing for information.

"I was merely contemplating what you've said," Rastaban lied, not breaking the eye contact, so he could easily see as surprised delight washed over the woman's blandly pretty features.

"And what do you think?" she inquired eagerly, her smile too wide to be honest.

"Maybe you're right," he answered, inwardly cataloguing every change in her expression and enjoying the rush that came with the knowledge that he was playing her for the fool she was. "But at the same time, I don't think I'm ready..." he trailed off, averting his gaze in shame.

"They can't hurt you, Rastaban, and I'm sure all of your classmates would be delighted to become your friends." Mrs. Davies smiled encouragingly, her hand reaching out to touch Rastaban, only to drop back into her lap when acidic green orbs flashed at her in warning.

Rastaban might have tolerated her and her ridiculous blabbering, but they were not close and he didn't allow strangers to touch him so casually. She was getting paid and slowly rising in the ranks amongst St. Mungo's healers, which immediately made Rastaban wary of her and her attempts to earn his trust.

Well she could wait for that until the world ended, because there was no chance that Rastaban would confide in her. "Of course, they can't hurt me, they are Muggles." He frowned, keeping up the facade of the confused child. Mrs. Davies pressed her lips together at that, clearly affronted by the dismissal in Rastaban's tone.

"Why don't you try and find one friend first?" she suggested, obviously choosing to overlook his comment.

"One friend?" he asked, scrunching his nose in what he guessed was a disagreeing yet uncertain way. He didn't add, "So they could betray me for their own gain or out of fear?"

"Yes," Mrs. Davies nodded, her smile once again widening. "Someone to hang out and to have play dates with. Things normal children do all the time."

Rastaban pursed his lips at her suggestion that he wasn't normal. As if he had had time for such trivialities as play dates. He was busy enough with his curriculum, not to mention his new Potions tutor was a right slave driver, finding flaws even in the most precisely made concoctions. So maybe, Rastaban wasn't a normal child, but unlike the mediocre blubbering brats at his school and even at Bauxbatons, he had a much greater chance to become someone important without the help of his already influential family.

"I don't have time for childish games," he stated and was backed by a soft chime echoing through the house, signalling the arrival of his History tutor. "However, I will think about your suggestion," he added when the witch opened her mouth to argue with him. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Davies. Have a good afternoon."

Rastaban left the room with a small nod, his mind already concentrating on his upcoming lesson with Master Savon. Just like he said mere minutes ago, he didn't have time for childish games, and that included humouring overeager, but overall useless mind healers who thought they had him all figured out.

**February the 14****th**** 2002, Palazzio Academy of Foreign Nations, Firenze, Italy**

Rastaban looked at the girl in front of him and wondered what she could want from him. He was aware that they shared classes, but if he wanted to be honest, aside from Max – a tall, awkward, auburn haired boy with a strangely enthusiastic attitude, who he saw as a somewhat amusing and valuable acquiantance – he almost never interacted with his peers. He raised an inquiring eyebrow that chased a hot blush to the nameless girl's cheekbones and caused him to narrow his eyes in suspicion. Was the Muggle nursing some kind of outlandish attraction towards him?

"Yes?" he asked with detached politeness, getting bored with her disturbing staring.

She flushed even more, and quickly snuck a glance behind her back where her giggling and whispering friends stood watching the unfurling scene with avid interest. Rastaban bit back a less than gentlemanly comment and even refrained from rolling his eyes at the confirmation of his thoughts. He never understood females and their explicit need of gathering into groups to imitate a bunch of crazy hyenas and pathetic dog bitches in heat, but his Uncle Sirius only laughed and patted his head when he shared his disdain filled opinion with him.

The uncouth girl finally deigned her posturing finished and turned back to him, blinking rapidly and baring her teeth in an admittedly unattractive way before she opened her mouth and said, her English heavily accented, "I was thinking, maybe we should go out for milkshakes after school? My mum would be happy to drive us!" she added quickly before Rastaban could have replied.

Milkshakes? Why would he want to go and get milkshakes with an unknown girl? Not to mention his Papa would go berserk if he knew Rastaban got into a car that belonged to some unidentified woman. So the answer was obviously no, but with all the attention the little wench managed to draw to them he couldn't just blow her off. No, this situation needed careful operation and a great amount of cunning.

"I'm honoured you thought of me," he started, inwardly wincing at the brightening of her expression and the weird looks he was getting from his audience. It was not his fault he was surrounded by ill-mannered Neanderthals who never heard of courtesy in their useless, empty little lives. "However, my schedule for after-school activities is already full and I have to decline your lovely offer."

He didn't add any of the degrading names that filled his mind, half-suspecting that the girl only wanted him because of his family's wealth and obvious higher standing. He even offered a meaningless smile already knowing that the simpering girl would not cause a scene, and he was right.

"Oh... of course," she murmured. "Of course, silly me! Another time? I know you're busy because you're a member of the fencing team and I haven't said congratulations for your latest win, but I hoped that maybe we could go out sometimes?" she rambled turning redder and redder with each passing moment Rastaban spent in silence. "Of course you don't have to–"

The young wizard wondered if every Muggle parent was as uncultured as this girl's, because it was not enough that the girl was mundane and low-class enough to approach a boy and ask him out on a date, but she didn't even had the common sense to introduce herself. He didn't care that they've been classmates for months, aside from Max and some other cobble-brained morons he didn't know anyone.

She was still babbling when Rastaban focused his attention back on her, but this time he raised his hand to put an end to her meaningless words. "We'll see," he said simply and turned away before she could have started another nonsense marathon.

Big brown eyes blinked back at him from behind thick glasses as he sat down next to his only friend in the school, severely bitten lips twitching upwards as if Max was trying to suppress his snickers, and he probably was. "Should I give you a ten foot pole before you talk to Perelli next time?"

"Now you are being crass, Maximilan," Rastaban deadpanned even though a hint of a smirk settled onto his face.

"Well next time try to look less like you want to throw up and I'll use more polite words," the blond shrugged, playing with his sandwich. "You know Perelli is the prettiest girl in our class."

"Even less reason for her to cheapen her assets." Rastaban stated with a roll of his eyes as he picked up his fork to start on his neatly packed lunch. "If she continues on this way she is going to be practically worthless by the time she reaches her prime."

"Man, I don't think I can ever get used to the fact you speak like an ancient old geezer from a Shakespearian drama or something," Max exclaimed softly and shook his head. "You really need to get out more."

"Maybe if more men valued the same virtues as I do, there would be fewer women who thought it was essential to act like a cheap whore to find a husband for themselves," the black haired boy scoffed.

"Well to be honest, I still think that girls are icky and I don't trust creatures that have the need to form packs and keep secrets from the world." Max's gaze shifted to the table where a group of giggling and whispering girls were seated, and Rastaban could understand his thoughts perfectly. "How can older boys put up with them, I'd never know. Hormones or not, chicks are iffy, period."

Rastaban didn't answer, simply watched the children goofing around him, his encounter with that girl, Perelli, long forgotten. They casted him occasional sideway glances, their gazes assessing and full of childish calculation causing his skin to crawl and prick with the need to curse and lash out. Unfortunately he couldn't do either of these things because he was posturing as a stuck up, spoiled Muggle child, but the need didn't go away until the end of the day when his Papa finally arrived for him to take him home.

"How was your day?" Regulus asked softly, running his fingers through Rastaban's somewhat dishevelled hair in a well-practiced manner. "You seem aggravated."

"I'm fine, Papa," the little boy answered and pecked the older man on his lips. "I'm just glad this day is finally over. These Muggle children are insufferable."

Regulus let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head fondly. "Don't be so harsh on them, my child, they are young and impressionable."

Rastaban hummed, leaning against his Papa's side contently. He felt as all tension left his body and enjoyed the soothing movements of the older man's fingers in his hair. It had been months since he started Muggle elementary school, joining children who had years to get used to each other and who saw him as an outsider in more ways than one. Yet, Rastaban understood that even if Muggles were beneath them, their knowledge in science and technology was actually superior to everything he could find in magical tomes. And a True Black always learnt from the best teachers, even if said teachers happened to be non-magical mundane people.

The majority of the Pureblood Society probably would have disagreed with his Papa and Grandfather's decision to register him to a Muggle school, however, unlike those arrogant, stuck up aristocrats, the Blacks were secure enough in their status and power to accept and take advantage of every opportunity to improve themselves. And Rastaban agreed and loved learning new things, even if the elementary level courses were ridiculous and boring him to death. Unfortunately, his Papa was adamant on him attending school with his proper age group, still hoping he would form bonds with the children and live a little.

Rastaban looked at his father, basking in the silently offered warmth of unconditional love and he knew, he could never deny the man anything, especially not after what Regulus had done for him.

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><p><strong><em>Author's Notes: <em>**_Well wow, you guys managed to blow my mind again. 15 reviews and over a 100 story alerts and over 50 favs. Well thank you, you're the best! I hope you liked the new chapter too, it's unbetaed but we're working on it. And if you have any questions or just want to talk to me, feel free to send a PM or you can find me on Tumblr (link on my profile). Now look forward for the new chapter of **Swan Heart** in the very near future and the third part of **Noble Trouble** on Saturday. _

**_A/N2:_**_ I would like to say thanks to **Balinor88**, whose review I couldn't reply because they didn't allow PMs. Nonetheless, you're a doll and I hope you liked this chapter too._


	3. Part 3

_**Author's Note:**_ _I'll try to keep it short. First of all, thanks for the wonderful reviews, and the amount of hits and adds, you're the best guys, believe me! As for being a day late, sorry, I wanted to update yesterday, but my entire body is a big bruise and I felt like dying yesterday so that's my excuse. But I added more than 2K words to the original length of the chapter, so I hope you'll like it! And please keep reviewing, I love knowing what you think about my stories! _

_Special thanks to __**misfit writer16, Rori Potter**__ as I couldn't reply to their reviews privately._

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><p><em><strong>Part III. – Pure Friends<strong>_

**February the 28****th**** 2003, Black Manor, Atlanta, Georgia**

At the tender age of ten, Rastaban acted and spoke like an adult at least three times his age, and it was his way too reserved and mature personality that caused Regulus to take matters in his own hands and after a short discussion with his father and brother he sent out invitations to the Malfoy, Zabini and the Nott families for a small tea party in hope to allow Rastaban attain new – and in Orion's opinion – proper friends.

Naturally, his son had a different opinion altogether. "I'm not sure I understand what you expect from this gathering," Rastaban commented mildly from his position across from Regulus who was seated behind his dark cherry wood desk, signing the invitations. "Everyone in this house knows what an awful conversationalist I am."

"You don't give enough credit to yourself," Regulus chided softly as always. "You are a very charming young man."

Rastaban levelled him with a disbelieving stare. "There is no need for sugar-coating the obvious, Papa. I don't have friends for a reason, and it has nothing to do with being surrounded by Muggles basically every day."

"You have friends–"

"I do not. I have a few acquaintances and another bunch of people who are constantly sucking up to me because I'm rich," his child cut in with a sigh.

"Well the sons of these families are also rich _and_ magical," Regulus reasoned, but Rastaban just pursed his lips and said nothing. "Not to mention young Draco is your cousin."

"Who I haven't met once since my Naming Ceremony." Slight annoyance flashed through Rastaban's features, but the emotion was gone in a matter of moments, leaving behind nothing but exasperated love. "I honestly love you, Papa," he whispered, cattish green eyes shining with a rare show of tenderness as he circled the old desk and embraced his father. "Please, never change."

Regulus closed his arms around the small form of his son and, not caring about being strong, buried his face in the soft skin of the boy's neck, knowing that despite his best efforts there was no way to bring Rastaban's lost childhood back.

"You'll have a great time, I'm sure." Neither of them knew who he tried to convince, still Rastaban played along and nodded in agreement even though it was obvious that he didn't believe him.

**March**** the 13****th**** 2003, Grimmauld Place, London, England**

Uncle Sirius rolled his eyes playfully as he took his place next to Rastaban's grandfather. "I can't wait to reunite with Cissy and her ferret-faced upstart little prick of an offspring," he commented snidely and smirked at Orion wolfishly.

"Mind your manners, my child," the elder Lord warned quietly, his pleasantly blank mask never slipping.

"I'll be Properly Personalised, no need to worry, Father," Sirius' smile widened while his grey irises danced in mirth. "Wouldn't dare to offend our dear cousin and her half-French brood for the world."

Rastaban listened to their banter in silence as he tried his best to hide his unwanted nerves. It wasn't like he hadn't met with wizards his age before; his brief and disastrous attendance to Bauxbatons Academy proved to be an... interesting experience to say at least. Yet here he was barely able to stop himself from fidgeting like a naughty five-year-old who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He briefly wondered if this was a natural feeling for ordinary children before meeting with new people. Probably, but then again, Rastaban was anything but ordinary.

Kreacher popped in announcing the arrival of their first guests, causing Uncle Sirius to shut up and his Papa to squeeze his shoulder encouragingly. Rastaban offered a faint smile before turning back to the door to see as a family of three walked in, smiles of bright yet haughty emptiness adorning their faces. Rastaban watched as the blond man – Lord Malfoy, he reminded himself – bowed formally before proffering his right hand in a more familiar greeting.

"Lucius." Orion's bow was noticeably less deep which seemed to irk the younger man, even though a flicker of his lashes was the only sign of his annoyance. "It's a pleasure to welcome you and your family in our home after so many years. I hope you've been well."

"It has been way too long Lord Black, but I can assure you, the pleasure is all ours." It was obvious even to Rastaban that the wizard was trying his best to suck up to his grandfather, probably to gain more support for his political campaign.

Orion didn't bat a lash and smoothly steered the topic to Cousin Narcissa and then to the young boy standing slightly behind the Malfoy patriarch.

"This is our son, Draco," Lucius made the introductions, his expression carrying a hint of smugness as he gently pushed the small sharp faced child forward. "I believe he is only a few months older than young Rastaban."

Rastaban felt as his Papa's fingers tightened on his shoulder at the small show of disrespect; Lucius shouldn't have mentioned him in such familiar way before he had been introduced to the family, even if both Lucius and Narcissa attended his Naming Ceremony. He also noticed the quick glance Lady Malfoy sent her husband and decided then and there that the golden haired woman was the more sensible of the pair. But then again, she was a Black by birth and was raised as every Black should be raised.

"May I present my grandson, Rastaban Lycoris Black? It has been more than a decade since you've seen him after all," Orion said, and Rastaban almost winced at the subtle frost that glazed his tone. "I presume your heir is raised by the Old Ways."

Regulus' hand twitched almost unnoticeably, showing a rare sign of nervousness. Rastaban wasn't worried though; even if his grandfather used even more obvious insults, the Malfoys could do nothing but take them as Lucius had been the one to act disrespectful toward the Elder Lord of a more prestigious family. He understood that different Houses had different policies and rules, but there were unwritten laws every pureblood had to follow no matter their upbringing.

Rastaban saw as Lucius' jaw clenched and nostrils flared, but the man had enough common sense to lower his gaze; obviously he didn't want to challenge the infamous Orion Black. Rastaban had heard stories of his grandfather's past duels and fighting skills, his Papa used to sit on his bed, stroking his hair and telling tales of the power his grandfather wielded. It was no surprise that the Malfoy Lord was sensible enough not to challenge the older wizard.

"Of course," Narcissa replied with a soft almost apologetic smile, preventing her husband from putting his foot in his mouth once again. Her voice was musical and gently flowing like a graceful, regal river that commended respect without brutal force, suiting her perfectly. "His tutors speak highly of his magical aptitude and he is doing his best to improve himself."

"Ambition and hard work, really nice treats in a young man," Orion nodded in approval. "Maybe he and Rastaban will find something to talk about while we chat about the usual adult nonsense."

Rastaban refrained from sighing as he caught the side-way glance his grandfather sent him. Of course he heard the order that had been hidden amongst the otherwise unimportant words; his grandfather wanted him not only to test the Malfoy heir but to secure some kind of connection with him – and probably the other two children – too.

Lady Malfoy offered another stunning smile and Orion stepped forward with solemn expression, stretching his right arm out to his niece who accepted the appendage with an approving nod, leaving her husband to trail after her as subtle punishment as she and Rastaban's grandfather strode into the drawing room that had been prepared for the tea party.

The other guests arrived soon after they left, making their rounds of necessary niceties and empty chitchat.

Lady Zabini and her son Blaise were the first to walk through the foyer's doors after the Malfoys, and it was glaringly obvious that the darkly beautiful woman had her sight set on the handsome and very much eligible Black brothers. Her dark cinnamon eyes shone with a strange, wild hunger that sent cold shivers down Rastaban's spine, causing him to instinctively press closer to his Papa. Her son, on the other hand, only bowed stoically, his amber gaze alert and perceptive. He was almost a head taller than Rastaban with dark skin and a slim, slightly gangly body that was covered in the finest velvet made robes.

Rastaban suspected that the Zabini Heir's views were quite similar to his own, he was so unlike Draco who, even while remaining silent, radiated false confidence and tried to copy his father's posture and facial expressions. Blaise nodded calmly and after his mother introduced him, he offered his hand first to Sirius then to Rastaban's papa and Rastaban himself. He had impeccable manners, something Rastaban appreciated immensely especially after spending the majority of his time amongst crude and ill-mannered Muggle children.

He watched as his father escorted Lady Zabini and Blaise to the drawing room, leaving him alone with his fidgeting and clearly annoyed uncle to welcome the Nott brothers. "How are you doing so far?" he asked, pulling Rastaban close to his chest.

"I'm fine," Rastaban replied calmly, earning a disbelieving snort that made him wince inwardly and thank the Black forefathers that his grandfather was already out of earshot. "I can't afford failure," he admitted in the end, a barely audible sigh escaping his lips. He leant against the hard stomach of his uncle, giving and seeking support at the same time.

"Failure, huh?" Uncle Sirius mused, gently squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. "You'll be okay, Harry," he said, breathing that long forgotten name against Rastaban's hair. "You're a Black, and a True Black can achieve whatever they want."

The quiet confidence in the older man's voice managed to calm Rastaban's nerves somewhat and he even managed to quirk his lips upwards when the Notts appeared in the doorway.

Thaddeus, the older of the brothers, was distant with perfect manners, but his eyes were dark and haunted resembling to two black holes that devoured and compressed everything around him. He thanked Sirius the invitation, placing his surprisingly long-fingered hand into Sirius' much broader one and then blushed when Rastaban's uncle held the contact longer than it was socially acceptable.

Rastaban's eyes narrowed as theories of possible meanings behind the action flooded his mind all at once, but Thaddeus chose that moment to extract his hand from Sirius' grip and introduce his little brother, Theodore, effectively pulling Rastaban out of his thoughts.

Theodore looked years older than him with gangly limbs, pale skin and sharp features that made his face look awkward and gave away his real age. Still, despite the somewhat rat-like and uninteresting face, Rastaban could tell that he was going to turn into a rather stunning man with given time. Not to mention with eyes as dark and beseeching as his, Rastaban had no doubt that the young Nott would have no trouble finding an acceptable bride for himself.

Theodore's hand trembled violently as he accepted Sirius' proffered handshake, and Rastaban couldn't help but feel for the boy, knowing perfectly well how he was feeling. So as his uncle offered his elbow to Thaddeus, Rastaban did the same, smiling faintly when Theodore linked their arms shyly and ignoring the cheeky smirk Sirius sent their way moments before he led their little quartet through the white double doors the others disappeared behind.

The elves secluded a small lounge for them by the French windows, putting a respectful distance between the adults and the children. It let both parties have their privacy, but it also kept the children under the watchful gazes of their overprotective parents, Rastaban noted, amused by the slyness of his grandfather who had the perfect position to see everything that went down between Rastaban and his new acquaintances.

Draco and Blaise stood up the moment he and Theodore neared their corner, the position between the boys suggested a close relationship that had been going on for years. To the Black Heir's analytical mind it meant possible conflicts for the future; both wizards would choose the other over him, and he couldn't allow people who could never be 100% loyal to get close to him or his family.

Nonetheless, he managed to pull a polite parody of a smile and nodded to his guests, allowing them to take their places once again. Theodore chose the armchair closest to his seat as the chocolate eyes watched Malfoy and Zabini with hardly concealed distrust. Rastaban agreed with him, however, he had more experience in hiding his feelings therefore keeping up his facade of the perfect pureblood heir.

"I suggest we follow our parents' example and have a small toast before the tea is served," he said, breaking the silence smoothly. He smothered the nervous fluttering in his stomach and made sure his expression held a touch more warmth than he felt. "To this promising day and new friendships." He raised his small flute of elven made sparkling cider – delivered by Kreacher – waiting for the others to follow suit.

"To new friendships," they chorused nodding and smiling while three pairs of hawk-like eyes watched the Black Heir's every breath.

"I heard from mother that you're quite set in your academic improvement," Blaise spoke up, his tone mildly interested.

"I wouldn't be worthy of the Black name if I ignored the power of knowledge," Rastaban replied jovially. "However, I don't think I'm all that different from you. We are heirs of prominent pureblood families and it is our duty to enrich the name and prestige of our respective Houses."

"I agree," Draco stated. "For one, I find nothing more disgusting than when purebloods throw our traditions away just to grovel at the feet of pathetic and useless Muggles."

"We're living in an era that allows too much leeway to the tarnishers of our nation." Blaise nodded, his golden eyes never leaving Rastaban's face. "The Muggles are polluting our very core, stealing the magic of Earth therefore making us weaker forcing us to lose our very essence."

Rastaban bit his lower lip, deep in thought. "Do you have any suggestion how we should stop the degradation of our culture?"

"Why not finish what the Dark Lord started and eliminate the Muggles?" Malfoy questioned, childish arrogance lacing his voice. "We are superior–"

"You are a fool if you believe that," Theodore interrupted coolly.

"Are you one of those Muggle lovers?" the blond sneered, silvery irises flashing with a predatory light.

"You don't need to be a blood traitor to have some functioning brain cells, Malfoy," Theodore countered cuttingly.

"Are you suggesting that I'm stupid?" Pale hands balled into fists on Draco's knees, however, before he could have shot to his feet and do something unforgivable, Blaise grabbed his elbow and squeezed warningly.

"This is neither the place nor the time for petty bickering," the dark skinned boy hissed.

"He called me stupid!"

"You sure are acting like a fool!"

"I have every right to–"

"Shut your mouth and start behaving like the heir of an ancient family you supposed to be."

Blaise's expression was unforgiving as he glared at his friend who, after yanking his arm out of the other's hold, sat back properly and gritted out, "I apologise, Black. I hope I have not offended you with my brutish and improper attitude."

"Apology accepted," Rastaban nodded in acceptance. Inwardly he was already listing the up- and downsides of keeping Draco Malfoy close to him. The boy's chances to become anyone important in his life were quickly diminishing. "Why don't we change the subject? I admit it was not the best choice for a first time meeting such as ours. However, I heard you are going to Roxfort next year and I'm quite curious what you think and heard about the school."

"Yes, we are," Blaise agreed immediately and despite his earlier thoughts Rastaban decided that with his charming yet commanding nature he could become a great asset of the Black family. "I assume you will join us..."

Rastaban smiled enigmatically. "Actually, no. Papa decided I should continue my studies with a selected group of private tutors." He didn't tell them about his Muggle schooling; he learned his lesson about trust the hard way after Marcel Villeneuve – he still couldn't believe that the shy, sweet looking boy was able to deceive him and make him believe they were actually friends – and the whole disaster with Aubrey Chaville at Bauxbatons.

"My father wants me to go to Durmstrang," Malfoy gloated. "He and Headmaster Karkaroff are close friends, not to mention there are less ridiculous restrictions against the Dark Arts."

"I take you prefer the darker side of the Arts?"

"Don't we all? Only the weak stick strictly to Light spells." Theodore's lips thinned dramatically next to Rastaban, but the auburn haired boy refrained from saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

"That's an interesting ideology," Rastaban hummed, humouring the Malfoy Heir. "You must be really bored with your current studies then."

Blaise twitched at the barb, but Draco only smirked, unaware of the sarcasm hidden behind Rastaban's words. "Mostly, but I managed to coerce my tutor into teaching me a few neat tricks and there are always the potions. Having a Potions Master as your godfather has its perks."

"I see." Rastaban sipped his freshly served cup of tea while he discretely looked at the adult group. The indulgent, flashy smiles and amused chuckles seemed way too calculated and plastic to be honest; it was clear that everyone in the room thought that they were in charge, toying with the others effortlessly. In reality, it was his grandfather who was playing the guests like a virtuoso played his favourite violin, his sharp grey eyes storing every little nuance and gesture away for later analysis and life altering decisions.

The conversation was flowing smoothly and kept like unlike theirs and Rastaban guessed it was time to change the topic once again. "Well, from what I heard, at Durmstrang you don't have to wait until your second year to try out for the Quiddich team," he said with a sly little smirk playing on his lips. "Should I ask Papa to arrange a game in the very near future?"

"That is a great idea!" Blaise agreed.

"There are only four of us," Draco argued, his fair brows knitted together. "I guess I could ask Crabbe and Goyle to join us, sure they're brainless, but should be able to hit the Bludgers without problem."

"I don't play Quiddich," Theodore said, averting his gaze even while he kept his chin high as he was daring any of them to say something.

"Oh." Rastaban frowned in thought, trying to figure out what he should do to prevent the conversation from dying. "To tell the truth, I prefer fencing myself," he admitted in the end earning a strange look from Malfoy and an inquiringly quirked eyebrow from Blaise, while Theodore simply offered a faint half-smile.

"Fencing? Uncle Regulus allows you to wield a sword?" Draco asked, sounding disbelieving and not a little envious.

"Of course, I've been practicing for the last three years," Rastaban answered with an elegant shrug. "I need to keep my body fit and my reflexes fast, because according my tutor, a strong body and constant awareness are essential for duelling."

"My brother said the same thing," Theodore nodded. "Although he refused to allow me anywhere near to a sword until my thirteenth birthday," he added in a somewhat bitter tone.

"Mother refuses to have me taught something so barbaric as fencing," Draco sneered in disdain, but the anger and jealousy in his silvery grey eyes betrayed his words. "And Blaise won't learn either."

The dark skinned boy sent his friend a harsh glare, but nodded in agreement. "I'm not much of a fighter," he said with a light smile. "Well not when it comes to physical fights."

"Ah yes, Uncle Sirius mentioned that your mother told him you're more of a debater, talking circles around her Law Wizards without an effort," Rastaban said mildly, noting the dark reddish spots that adorned Blaise's cheekbones at the mention of his mother over-sharing information about him.

"I have told her several times to fire those fumbling numbskulls." To his credit Blaise managed to keep his cool in spite of his obvious embarrassment. "It's no feat at all to find flaws in anything they say."

"Oh, stop being so disgustingly humble, Zabini," Draco cut in with a scoff. "We both know that you're brilliant and Father is already planning to offer you an internship with him after your graduation from Hogwarts."

Rastaban watched as Blaise's eyes widened in shock as he turned to stare at his friend. It wasn't hard to figure out he had known nothing of Lord Malfoy's plans up till that moment, but was pleased under the heavy layer of astonishment nonetheless. This new snippet of information gave Rastaban some ideas of how he could use the Zabini Heir's talent for the Black Family's gain, and made a mental note to talk his uncle about it later. After all it was Uncle Sirius who kept in touch with Lucius Malfoy, and despite his flaws and arrogance, there was no doubt that the man was an exceptionally skilled and influential figure in the Political World.

He turned to look at the blond wizard who was currently chatting with Rastaban's father, taking in the strange gentleness those luminous silver irises carried as Lucius held Regulus' gaze. It was so different from the haughty void he had seen earlier, and Rastaban had to admit it interested him, making him want to find out more about his papa and Lord Malfoy's relationship.

But it had to wait until later, because he had three expectant guests waiting for him to share his plans for the future. "As Blaise have said, I'm quite set on my academic improvement, and I don't want to miss any opportunity to widen my horizons," he replied evasively, not trusting either one of them to share any personal information about himself.

"You're no fun, Black," Draco sneered, although with jutting out his lower lip they way he did, it looked like more of a pout than a sneer. "I, for one, am going to follow my father's steps, of course. Father has the necessary connections and at my birthday party I'm going to be introduced to the Society." Rastaban did not furrow his eyebrows in disapproval at the blatant gloating, but he exchanged a quick glance with Theodore and he also saw as Blaise pursed his lips in annoyance.

Draco Malfoy really needed a reality check, if he believed becoming a politician, especially a successful one, was that easy. He had no idea what Lucius Malfoy was playing at, but Rastaban doubted his grandfather or uncle approved of his plans about introducing his eleven-year-old son to the Society, especially when said son continued acting like a spoiled brat.

And apparently was incapable of noticing when his prattling was unappreciated. "Of course you are invited, Black and you too Blaise," he went on, blatantly insulting Theodore by leaving his name out.

It was this show of absolute disrespect that caused Rastaban's patience to snap, and before Blaise, who also looked completely outraged, could have opened his mouth to berate his best friend, he spoke up, using his coldest tone. "Really now? Well, here are some interesting news for you Cousin Draco; I don't associate myself with low-class, ill-mannered imbeciles who believe the world revolve around their pitiful lives."

"Are you implying I'm one of these people?" Malfoy hissed, his face turning into an interesting shade of red in his rage and humiliation.

"Good, at least plain dumb is not amongst your lesser qualities." Rastaban smiled benignly at the blond, his eyes wide, fake innocence and rightful scorn mixing in the green depths.

"How–"

"How dare I? The question is more like, how dare you? You might be secure in your father's connection and influence that brought the prestige of your family, but let me remind you, that both I and Theodore are offspring of older and more noble families. So you would do well, remembering not to insult him and through him me in the future." By the end of his speech his words barely carried human syllables to what the other three children's eyes widened in surprise and fear.

"You're a Parselmouth," Theodore whispered to himself, still Rastaban heard.

His head snapped to the gangly boy's direction and he lifted a curious eyebrow. "A Parselmouth?"

Wary dark brown gaze met his own almost glowing green one as the Nott Heir slowly nodded in assent. "Just now, you spoke in Parseltongue."

A heavy and tension filled silence fell over the room after the revelation. The adults turned to them all at once, their expressions varying from calculating and worried to resigned and blank. Rastaban himself was desperately seeking his father's gaze, inwardly restless and confused about what this new situation could mean and how they would solve it. However, Regulus was glaring harshly at his own father, his jaw set firmly as if he knew what the older wizard was thinking.

Lucius Malfoy stroked his lower lip, his eyes never leaving Rastaban's slight form even though it was evident he was lost in his thoughts. The look in the man's gaze frightened the young Black Heir, yet somehow it also excited him in ways he had never experienced before. It felt like Lord Malfoy had ensnared his senses, drawing his attention no matter how much he wanted to focus on his father, and Rastaban didn't have enough power to break the connection between them.

He was aware that his slip up could cause serious problems; neither of the attending wizards and witches were daft enough not to realise that the last wizard who had the ability to speak the Snake Language was Lord Voldemort – the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin according to the _Complete Inheritance Book of the House of Black_ that contained the family threes and some essential information of every prominent pureblood family of Wizarding Europe.

Rastaban's nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms as he tried to squelch the urge to brush his hair in front of his heavily glamoured scar that, while had fainted during the years, was still prominent enough to stir unwanted questions. Questions only brought more complications, especially when the hidden secrets were as severe as his. Of course neither his father nor his grandfather knew he found out the truth about his real identity, but their ignorance only made him more determined to keep the story of Harry Potter to himself until the time was right.

No one could know, and if it was up to him, no one would know, not even Lucius Malfoy whose expression projected raw hunger and pleasure of a new conquest. Rastaban's lips twitched upward as he finally found the willpower to look away and to break the silence.

"Being compared to Salazar Slytherin is the biggest compliment I've ever got from someone," he said genially, drawing surprised chuckles from the others. "However, I'm sure, that while I might have acted out of order every one of my words was perfectly understandable. Or am I wrong?" He rested his eyes on Theodore who paled dramatically alongside with Draco and Blaise.

He felt his magic practically swirling around them in seductive waves, caressing and teasing the children and even some of the adults, earning soft gasps from his victims. Draco licked his lips and within moments his breath turned laboured, however, it wasn't enough to prevent him from trying to speak.

"You hissed," he gasped, grey irises glazed with the result of magical overload. "I heard the words..." Blaise grabbed his hand, though Rastaban wasn't sure if he wanted to silence or support the blond with the gesture.

"Malfoy is right," Theodore said in a hushed tone, and he refused to meet anyone's eyes. Still Rastaban saw how much his hands trembled. "I heard and understood the words too... but they felt... strange."

"I was angry, because Draco's disrespect towards you," Rastaban defended his actions, causing the magic in the air to thicken even more. "I would be honoured to wield the ability of one of the greatest wizards of our history, unfortunately, as we all know, the Blacks are not descendants of the Slythering family." His lips felt like parchment and he had to wet them to be able to continue.

For a second, he locked his eyes with his uncle, who was one of the few people unaffected by the tantalizing power Rastaban was emitting half-unconsciously, and Sirius nodded in understanding and consent. Rastaban closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths and trying to let his magic settle down at the same time.

After years of practice, it wasn't all that hard anymore, but he it still took a few minutes before all traces of magic evaporated from the air and the after effects still hit their guests pretty hard. However, if the looks on their faces was anything to go by, they believed his little tale and by the time they left, they would forget they had any suspicions about Rastaban being anything but a normal pure blooded wizard. Well if Uncle Sirius played his cards right, that is.

"I'm afraid the whole uproar is entirely my fault," the older Black wizard admitted with a sheepish grin earning dubious yet hazy looks from the other guests. "You all know my love for playing childish pranks and I'm not ashamed to admit I was blatantly eavesdropping on the kiddies argument..."

"You didn't." Regulus was the first to understand the meaning behind his brother's words and Rastaban could see when the first flames of fury fuelled fire in his papa's charcoal eyes, chasing away even the barest hint of confusion.

"Little brother, you have to admit, it was fun to watch how they all paled and became panicky," Sirius goaded, his grin widening until it was almost slitting his face in two.

"Just what are you talking about, Black?" Lord Malfoy asked, sounding slightly disoriented.

"I cast a tiny little spell on our sweet Rastaban." Sirius answered and had the gall to wink at the older man, infuriating the blond.

"So this whole debacle is Lord Black's fault?" Lady Zabini questioned, looking put out.

Orion shot a scathing glare in his son's direction before he turned back to the beautiful and no less dangerous witch with a placating half-smile. "You have to forgive my daft child, Lady Zabini," he said, his voice deep and velvety like the smoothest and darkest of chocolates. "He always had a playful heart."

"Well, maybe I can appreciate his sneakiness if nothing else," she sniffed. "But then again nowadays, he is called the Snake in Lion's Clothes."

Rastaban saw the way she devoured his uncle with her eyes and couldn't contain a small shudder at the sight. She was one hell of a dangerous woman, one he would never allow anywhere near his family. He heard a few chuckles and Aunt Narcissa took it upon herself to tell a few amusing stories about their time at Hogwarts, dissolving the tension within minutes.

"I see the error in my actions." It was Draco's quiet, sulky words that drew Rastaban's attention back to his own guests who still looked a bit dazed. "Nevertheless, Can I hope to see all three of you amongst the guests at my birthday party?"

"I can't promise anything," Rastaban responded causing the blond boy's face to fall in disappointment. "However, even if my father decides not to attend your ball, I will make sure to wish you a happy birthday in person," he added, making amends to what Draco nodded and after another moment looked at Theodore.

"It depends on Thaddeus, but I'll try to be there," he said in a solemn tone.

"And you know, I would never miss your eleventh birthday party for the world," Blaise cut in before the Malfoy Heir could have opened his mouth to ask him the same question.

The smile that adorned Draco's face was not less surprising than seeing his father looking tenderly at Rastaban's papa, because out of sudden the sharp, pointy features softened and became almost radiant, making Rastaban realise that being happy suited his cousin. And while it didn't change his mind about Draco's bratty attitude, it helped him to see through the older wizard's badly crafted mask.

He would confide in the blonde anytime soon, but with given time and the right upbringing, he could see Draco as a great asset to the Black Family. He smiled softly at the boy and carried on with the conversation about Aunt Narcissa's plans for the party, happy to discuss a topic that couldn't turn into something horrible. Not to mention, a Malfoy loved nothing more than talking about himself, or so Blaise had told Rastaban when he and his mother were taking leave.


	4. Part 4

**_Author's Note: _**I'm sorry it's taken longer than I expected to update. To tell the truth the last part of the chapter has been written for over two months but I found it too short so I wanted to add more to it. However, I never expected to write my first (not first time) smut scene or that I would begin the chapter with it.

Yes the chapter starts with a **SEX SCENE! ** so here is some **WARNING!** before some of you start to complain.

I hope you'll like it, because this is actually my first attempt to write about real sex in English. And I hope you won't hate Lucius (or me for that matter) too much in the end...

Now that my excuses and warnings are over and done with, I want to thank you your wonderful reviews and I'll answer every one of them when I get home tomorrow. So if you feel like telling me what you thought about this or any previous chapters, feel free to do so, I love reviews and comments just like any other author. Also, I want to thank you guys the adds and the hits, I'm still awed by the number of them!

So as a little reward, I posted a little snippet of the next chapter on my **Tumblr**, you can find the link on **my profile**.

Cheers,

Lilith

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Part IV - Berry Invasion<span>**_

**May the 1st 2003, Ravenshall Wood, Scotland**

It was the night of the Great Sabbath and Regulus was running, his heart weightless with pulsating excitement and apprehension; the Chase was on and he had to get away from his pursuer. Heavy puffs of air were leaving his lungs in quick gasps only to be concealed by the inviting embrace of the night. A breathy laugh escaped his lips as lush grass tickled his naked feet and a playful breeze snuck through his thin white robes.

The air was heavy with unfiltered dark magic; the seductive power whispering and enticing his senses till he felt beyond intoxicated. There were no strict rules and pompous posturing; he was driven by pure instincts and power. At that moment he was nothing more than an eager and gracious son of Mother Magic; he was nameless and free of responsibilities, already drunk on fine mead and the thrum of magic.

Another soft laugh echoed amongst the trees causing Regulus' whole body and soul to resonate with the sound before a flash of silver silk floated before his very eyes, caressing and ensnaring him out of nowhere. Strong arms encircled his waist just as Regulus crashed into the hard body of his capturer, sending both of them to the cool ground and tearing a disbelieving sound from his throat.

For a second magic hummed even more soundly than before, but the moment was broken when Regulus' charcoal gaze landed on the luxurious feather covered mask that hid the other wizard's face from him. The man's pale lips were pulled into a triumphant smile while his silver eyes glowed in the dark, rendering Regulus speechless.

"Do you yield?" the man asked, his velvety voice barely louder than a pleased purr.

Strong fingers shackled Regulus's wrists to the ground while powerful hips ground down, robbing him of a desperately treasured moan. He could feel the other wizard's hardness; its heat matching the one that was radiating from Regulus' groin, promising dark but oh so delicious things to come, and it would have been so easy to give up and give in...

"You wish," Regulus hissed, eyes narrowed and defiant despite the searing need that was coursing through his veins and making his cock throb.

His hips jerked upwards in answer to his opponent's challenge, enjoying the sight of the suddenly clenching jaw and pursing lips. "We'll see," came the slightly strained reply and the man tightened his grip on Regulus' wrists.

Silver clashed with charcoal, power sizzling between them with erroneous force before thin lips crashed against his in a feral kiss. There was nothing romantic or gentle about it; teeth collided with teeth as they bit and tasted without restrain; both of them fighting for dominance and refusing to lose.

Someone groaned, and Regulus suspected it had to be him because only a moment later a demanding tongue entered his mouth to explore and punish his very core. However, Regulus was still not ready to submit to the man above him. He raised his hips once more and repeated the motion again and again, playing dirty and wanting even more. His fingers sank into the other wizard's white blond hair and he tugged the rich tresses mercilessly, earning a ferocious growl and a ruthless thrust from his enemy.

"You're going to pay for that," the man snarled into his mouth only to rear back when Regulus bit down harshly on the pink lower lip above him.

"You were saying?" Regulus taunted, basking in the breathless pleasure and whirling power that was seeping through his pores.

White teeth flashed in warning before they tore into Regulus neck destroying his moment of joy. Pain and pleasure shot down his spine, forcing his back to arch and his head to snap back while a loud and equally mortifying moan left his lips. Another bite was added to the first one, this time his collar bone was the target and at the same time a talented and cruel hand curled around his aching need, pulling and stroking through the fabric of his white robe.

Regulus' own fingers dug into damp soil as he writhed beneath the ravenous man who was marking him and unconsciously feeding the hungry magic around them. Regulus could feel its pulsating need that echoed the one that throbbed in his blood and his hips rose on their own accord while his legs parted without his consent, silently inviting the man and losing the battle of dominance all at once.

His mind was slowly slipping into a delirious haze leaving him powerless and entirely at the other wizard's mercy. He couldn't think anymore, reaching up near blindly to drag that merciless mouth onto his, drinking and seeking the invisible power only this man could offer him.

He moaned into the kiss, his body nothing more than a burning mass of nerves, but it wasn't enough... never enough. Nothing mattered as he tore into the fine material of the other's robe, revealing unblemished moonlit skin that was goading him coyly, wanting to be marked and painted angry red.

The man groaned unabashedly, his strokes becoming more heated and urging, driving Regulus crazy, because it was just not enough.

"Damn it all," Regulus panted and tried his best to will the barriers of mocking purity away, dipping his hand into the humming dark pulse around them in hope to turn the white linen of their robes into silken liquid.

The magic answered his barely conscious command, and suddenly Regulus was surrounded by the gentle temptation of floating silk; his vision overloaded by the beauty of the wizard crouched above him. The mere sight of his lover left him breathless, yet attempted to bring reality back, something Regulus refused to allow to happen. The night and magic protected and hid them from the ugly claws of reality, letting him and the other man to enjoy the passion Mother Magic granted him for this one single night.

Regulus closed his eyes in ecstasy as his lover's overheated shaft slid against his own need, feeding the fire building in the lower pit of his stomach. His hands reached up on their own accord, nails digging into the hard plans of moonlit muscles, smearing and bruising them with dirt. His actions earned him a low pitched growl and hard punishing nips on the side of his neck, but Regulus couldn't care about possible marks and bruises because at that exact moment a long, wet finger touched his entrance and sent nerve-racking electricity through his body.

Regulus' mouth opened, yet no sound came as the air got stuck in his throat, choking him. He tried to gasp or maybe beg for more, but his lover knew no mercy and continued to tease him. His finger circled and caressed the tight muscles of his anus, sometimes dipping in only to leave again and slid up to play with his perineum. It was pure, unadulterated torture of the best kind, and in any other situation Regulus would have been mortified by the sounds and the broken words that left his mouth.

However, instead of trying to get away or contain himself, he spread his legs even wider, and offered everything he got. "Please..." he gasped desperately, forcing his gaze to meet with the glowing mercury orbs above him. "I... I'm... burning..."

And he was. His blood and nerves were burning him alive with the power of darkness, slowly destroying his mind and will. His lover smiled a snake-like smile; all arrogance and bravado, but his heavy pants and the beads of sweat rolling down his shoulders and chest told another tale altogether.

Silver eyes shone with the light of Mother Moon as the man devoured Regulus' mouth once again and finally sank that taunting finger into the Regulus' waiting passage, slowly stretching him and showing him that the Chase was over.

Regulus moaned, scratching his lover's back, but never breaking eye contact. He breathed gaspy, open-mouthed kisses against the other wizard's lips, never lingering for more than a second and fluttering away before his lover could have reacted. His hips rose and lowered repeatedly, seeking contact to sooth his aching need, but there was nothing as the man above him rose onto his knees and away from him.

The finger inside him found his prostate out of sudden, stroking the little gland once, twice and stealing an obscene moan from Regulus' lips. Flashing spots danced before his eyes, blinding him for endless seconds and making the burn of the invasion of another finger go unnoticed. He squirmed and lifted his head to kiss his lover only to be pushed back with a low hiss as his only warning.

Regulus wanted to protest to fight, yet before he could force his mind to even start forming coherent thoughts, his lover's free hand curled around Regulus' twitching hardness and squeezed. "Silence," the man whispered huskily, and Regulus could do nothing but obey the magic infused command that grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head by an invisible force. "Good... Very good..."

The man went back to his ministrations, his movements precise and maddening, touching and rousing Regulus' core until he could see nothing more than swirling colours that centred in a pair of bottomless silver wells. He didn't know when the third finger entered him or registered the pain that shot up his spine before it was drowned by the impossible sensation of a foreign yet way too familiar magic seeping into his core, irrevocably marking his magic and heart.

Through the pleasure and suffocating tendrils of power, Regulus tried to protest, fear bubbling up in his soul, however, he hadn't got the chance to utter even sound because his lover finally had enough of teasing and playing and replaced his fingers with his steel-like cock, slamming into Regulus with one powerful thrust and making the world explode around Regulus' shattered and forever lost heart.

Rationality disappeared and left behind nothing but animalistic grunts and screams as their bodies moved and chased the intoxicating curls of dark magic that only the True Sons of Mother Magic could experience and was long lost to the foolish and traitorous Light wizards. The smell of pleasure and lust mixed with the earthy scent of the ancient forest, heightening Regulus' desire for completion despite all the impending consequences that were sure to crash around them in the aftermath.

His lover's thrust sped up and he tried to follow, but the rhythm became distort, telling him they were both close... so close...

A haunting scream filled the otherwise still air and was followed by an almost terrifying roar as they finally reached fulfilment, their essence readily offered as sacrifice to the Great Mother before they were whisked away by the impending silence and blackness of oblivion.

**[****Noble****Trouble]**

Regulus could still feel the low thrum of magic in his veins when he regained his consciousness. He felt warm and safe in the cocoon of the floating silk bedding and the strong arms of his lover. The scent of sex and almonds filled his nose, causing him to reflexively bury his nose into the soft tresses of the man who was sprawled over his body, still asleep.

He refused to open his eyes, already knowing what he would see. He was far from ready to face the reality of what had just happened, silently cursing his weakness and inability to fight the allure of those silver eyes and enthralling presence. He had no one to blame but himself for falling into the trap of the other wizard, but it didn't change the fact he wanted nothing more than hate his lover for playing upon his momentary lapse of judgement and praying on that pathetic strand of hope that made him agree to come and join the Chase.

A derisive sneer curled Regulus' lips as his core pulsed, silvery black strands of another person's magic flashing behind his closed lids. He was marked for eternity, marked by a man who would never be his, who would never keep the promises he made... He was marked by the husband of his very cousin and could do nothing but accept the fact that he would have to spend the rest of his life alone and cursed by his pathetic infatuation and stupidity.

His body tensed as the other wizard started to come around and stifled a broken moan as his now softened shaft slipped out of him. Unfortunately the hitch of his breath alerted his lover and before he could realise what was happening thin lips brushed against his slightly parted ones, breathing four seemingly insignificant stop words into his mouth, making his pounding heart stop.

"My beautiful Raven King." Regulus' eyes snapped open in outrage, yet instead of lashing out like he yearned to do, he simply stared at the still hidden face of his lover; his lips pressed into a painfully thin line.

"Don't," he gritted out through his clenched teeth, drawing satisfaction from the slightly taken aback look in the other's silver eyes. "Lucius... Just don't."

Lucius' jaw clenched and his gaze hardened; the only signs of his anger. "You're _mine_, Raven. Mine and you can do nothing to change that," he purred, grabbing Regulus chin and stroking his thumb over the scratchy stubbles of his jaw.

"That might be," Regulus shot back in his best mocking tone despite the hollow feeling that was rapidly spreading over his heart, "however, _you_ can't change the fact that you're bound to another _woman_."

"It's a mere contract," Lucius argued, sounding frustrated yet surprisingly tender. "Words formed by my father that mean nothing. Nothing compared to–"

"Please do us a favour and stop the lies," Regulus cut in. "What you've done to me means absolutely _nothing_, because you have a wife and you're bound to him by the Magic of the Black House."

"Don't say that," Lucius hissed, all trace of gentleness gone as his eyes flashed wildly. "You're mine! I marked you as mine for eternity!" He wasn't yelling, he didn't even raise his voice, but he still somehow managed to make every word as painful as a crack of a whip.

"Don't I know it?" Regulus hated himself for sounding so bitter and resigned. "I can feel your very essence, Lucius. The silver and black of your magic is embedded in my very core, showing your ownership," he spat, causing a smug smirk to bloom on Lucius' lips. "You own my heart, Lucius Malfoy," he continued watching as that hateful smirk widened, "but it means nothing because I have no claim on you."

Regulus saw as Lucius opened his mouth to answer and probably disagree, but he was already pushing the other man away from and off him not at all interested in anything Lucius could say. It wouldn't change the fact he still had nothing bar the disturbing feeling of being eaten away by growing emptiness.

Lucius hand tightened on his jaw and in his hair in an attempt to make him stay, unfortunately, Regulus just didn't care anymore and in a surge of brashness – so unlike him – he let his control go, sending tendrils of shock through his lover's body until Lucius let him go and backed away from him.

"I hope you're satisfied, Lucius, you got what you wanted after all." Were his parting words as he gathered his sizzling magic and apparated away, unconcerned by his nakedness.

**August ****the ****12****th ****2003, ****Black ****Manor, ****Atlanta, ****Georgia**

Rastaban knew that pressing his ear against the door of his papa's office with Uncle Sirius basically plastered over his back was unbecoming of a member – not to mention the heir – of the Black House, but his papa and grandfather were verbally ripping each other to shreds, and it was not something he wanted to miss.

Even though they made some reconciliation during the years, it was still obvious that his father hadn't forgiven Orion for sending Rastaban off to Bauxbatons. A part of Rastaban could understand his papa's reasons of course; entrusting your only child safety to a bunch of strangers only to have him tortured and nearly killed was not something anyone could easily forgive. However, unlike Regulus, Rastaban could also see the reasons behind his grandfather's reasons.

Bauxbatons was one of the most prestigious and ancient magical academies in Europe, and to have the chance to soak in all the age old magic and knowledge that swirled amongst the walls of the great palace was irrefutable. Orion had seen this and thought that it would help Rastaban to get a better grip on his bursting powers that started to cause more and more problems and accidents despite all the studying Rastaban had done.

And he was right. During his short stay at the academy, Rastaban's professors did their best to teach him control and the true meaning of having unlimited power. The professors challenged him and always expected more; never satisfied with anything Rastaban gave them. They taught him how to centre his mind and how to ensnare other's senses. They showed him the way to create life and the dangers of being almost godlike. They were ruthless but never unreasonable, and if Rastaban wanted to be honest, it was thanks to his professors that his mind hadn't snapped under the Cruciatus curse.

Still, in spite of the immense progress Rastaban had made, his father refused to let him anywhere near the great palace or France again. They moved a lot during the last four years, staying in towns and cities that were practically humming with the resonance of magic, however, if what Regulus had said was true, things were about to change.

"– reason, my child, one article in an _American_ paper will not destroy what we've built," Orion said evenly, but Rastaban could hear the agitation seeping into his tone.

"I'm not taking any chances," Rastaban's papa ground out, sounding strangely anxious and restless. "Lima is the perfect place to hide and there is still enough magic to go unnoticed by the press and the Government."

"We don't need to go unnoticed by anyone. We are Blacks–"

"Don't make me laugh, Father!" Rastaban shot an incredulous glance at his uncle who didn't seem to be shocked by the open hostility his brother was showing towards their father. "We might be talking about only the American press at the moment, but in your opinion, how long will it take the British press to get a hold of this story?"

"What are they talking about?" Rastaban whispered, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

Sirius shrugged behind him, his strong shoulders moving like an avalanche against Rastaban's back. "I've been in London until an hour ago," he commented idly, but one his velvet covered arms snuck around Rastaban's stomach, pulling him even closer to the older wizard's chest. "But I have a feeling Reg has a good reason for wanting to move to this mysterious Lima place."

Rastaban hummed distractedly. His grandfather was saying something, but his voice was too quiet for them to hear, and neither he nor Sirius was foolish enough to risk a stronger listening spell on the door.

"Papa has been acting strange since the Great Sabbath," he said softly, not at all surprised when he felt his uncle's body tense. "So you noticed it too."

"He doesn't talk about it, but I know that something happened," Sirius replied, aggravation colouring his tone. "I should have been there–"

"You are a powerful wizard, Uncle, but not powerful enough to resist the Call," Rastaban interrupted the older wizard and repressed the urge to roll his eyes when Sirius choked on thin air. "To tell the truth, I'm surprised you were able to stop yourself from claiming Lord Nott. No one expected you to look out for your brother too."

"How the–? Never mind, I don't want to know," Sirius groaned and hid his face in Rastaban's hair.

"I felt the Mother's Call too, you know," Rastaban offered, remembering the tantalizing feeling of raw dark magic caressing his bare skin as he lay in his bed feverish and moaning in burning fear and excitement, locked away from the world. The Great Mother whispered into his ear, sharing ancient secrets and sweet nothings with him, and it was an incredible and indescribable sensation; one he knew would only increase as the years passed.

"What?" his uncle sputtered and nearly cracked his ribs in his haste to tighten his embrace even more. "But you're too young! You shouldn't..."

"You know that if the Mother calls, you can do nothing but answer," Rastaban sighed, leaning his head against his uncle's hunched shoulder.

"But–"

"No, it's not alright!" Sirius was interrupted by his father's furious yell. "Your foolishness ends here and now, Regulus! I've waited months for you to solve this mysterious problem of yours, but I've had enough!"

"There is nothing to solve, Father," Regulus retorted, but the bitterness in his voice was evident even through the closed door. "There is nothing going on and I'm perfectly fine. I've already chosen a house in Lima as well as signed Rastaban's transfer papers. It's your decision if you choose to join us, but I will not change my mind. And now if you excuse me, I have some errands to run."

Rastaban's eyes widened just as his uncle groaned, "We're dead."

"Shh!" Rastaban hissed, quickly pushing Sirius off his back and against the wall.

He couldn't touch the wards without alerting his papa, just like he couldn't use his own magic without doing the same ever since they refused the invitation to Hogwarts and registered him as a homeschooled student, however these rules didn't apply to his uncle. Silently apologising for what he was about to do, he unbuttoned the top three buttons of Sirius's shirt and placed his palm over the older man's heart, ignoring the strangled gasp that wafted over his ear.

"W-what are you doing? Harry!" Sirius stammered in wide-eyed shock.

"Making sure, no one catches us red handed," Rastaban bit out, allowing his senses to attune to his uncle's racing heartbeat.

He only tried this trick a couple of times with one of his professors back at Bauxbatons and only succeeded once, but if his theories were correct then finding connection with someone from one's family should be much easier. Except, the connection was not there and instead of the rush of strongly pulsating power he only got a weak whisper and a reluctant twitch in his direction. It was a disheartening feeling, but nothing compared to the turmoil he felt over the confirmation of the suspicion he had been carrying for years.

He was not born as Rastaban Lycoris Black, but as Harry James Potter.

It wasn't a surprise per se, but the pang of being lied to for all his life was still there and maybe his eyes expressed his disappointment as he raised his head to look his uncle in the eye, because Sirius blanched and opened his mouth to voice his concern. However, before he could have uttered a word, the door of the office was thrown open and Regulus stalked out of the room with a thunderous expression that only darkened even more when his gaze fell upon them.

"Care to explain what you two are doing?" he inquired quietly, but his voice sent uneasy shivers down Rastaban's spine reminding him that his father – he refused to call or see Regulus as anything else despite everything he had just learned – was just as dangerous and powerful as his grandfather. "Brother?"

"We... Eh, that's a good question, Reg, a very good one indeed," Sirius chuckled uneasily, flashing a horribly fake innocent grin at his younger brother.

Rastaban pulled his hand away and turned to face his papa, taking in the stony set of his father's jaw and the charcoal eyes that narrowed with barely restrained rage. "We failed at hiding the fact that we've been blatantly eavesdropping on your... conversation with Grandfather," he said without batting a lash earning a raised eyebrow from his papa and a pitiful whine from his uncle.

For a moment Rastaban thought that his papa would lash out and punish him, but it passed as he noticed the slight twitch of Regulus' lips. "It seems having your magic tied to mine was a good idea after all," he said, the ghost of a smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "But it doesn't save you from being punished."

"Now, Regulus, Don't you think–"

"I'll deal with you later, Sirius." Uncle Sirius snapped his mouth shut with a sharp click and Regulus turned his slyly shining eyes back to Rastaban. "I assume you've heard that we're moving again."

"Yes, Papa," he agreed. "To Lima."

"It's a small town in Ohio, but not too secluded for us to draw attention." His father nodded, his expression closed off once more. "Your tutors have been informed and you are also going to continue your muggle education."

"Of course, I'd expect no less and thank you."

"Now back to your punishment." The shadow of that smirk was back causing Rastaban to start to get worried. "No magic, neither theory nor practice, for one week, and don't give me that look, I'm perfectly aware that you can go longer than a week without using your powers." Rastaban averted his gaze, unable to meeting his father's chastising glare.

"I understand," was his response as he raised his chin in acceptance. Even if Regulus was not his father, he was still a Black and a True Black always accepted the consequences of their actions with their head held high. "I'll be in my room."

"Alright," his papa inclined his head imperiously, however before Rastaban could have left, he reached out and carded his fingers through his hair and leant down, breathing a soft kiss onto his forehead to show he was forgiven. "Now go, I need to have a few words with your uncle."

**August ****the ****22****th ****2003, ****Black ****House, ****Lima, ****Ohio**

Regulus looked at the strange pair of Muggle men and the little girl standing in the doorway with matching bright smile on their faces. One was tall and dark skinned and was wearing distasteful and mismatched clothes while the other was a bit on the short side with tanned skin, ridiculous glasses, a big nose and a plaid shirt. From the way their arms were wrapped around each other, it didn't take long to figure out they were romantically inclined and that the girl was theirs.

"May I help you?" Regulus asked politely.

The child showed off her perfectly white teeth and presented a still steaming pie to him, urging him to take it. "Hey, welcome to Lima!" she yipped like an overeager puppy. "I'm Rachel Berry and these are my two gay fathers, Leroy and Hiram Berry. We're living next door!"

Regulus glanced at the men, expecting them to reprimand their daughter not only for embarrassing them, but also because of the lack of proper manners she was showing. However, they simply smiled adoringly at their child and after another moment of charming smiles they extended their hands introducing themselves cheerfully.

"As our little angel said, very welcome to Lima, Ohio!" the taller one said. "If you need anything, feel free to ask us, we'd be more than happy to help."

"We hope you like cherry pie, Rachel put a great effort to make it, and it's 100% kosher of course," the other added gesturing toward the dessert in Regulus' hand.

"Thank you, it's very nice of you." Regulus thanked his upbringing for managing to pull a seemingly honest smile. "I'm Regulus Black, the pleasure is mine." He shook the proffered hands withholding the wince at the feeling of those sweaty palms touching his skin. "Would you like to come in?"

He hoped they would decline the invitation and wished his father hadn't decided to visit Sirius to discuss yet another plan that had something to do with Thaddeus Nott and Sirius' obvious attraction for him.

"Sure!" Hiram agreed almost immediately. "We've heard you have a child yourself and thought maybe he and our Rachel would hit it off..."

Regulus sincerely doubted it, but he couldn't very well take the invitation back so after another strained smile he stepped back and let the Muggles in, already dreading his son's reaction even if there was a great chance that Rachel would become Rastaban's classmate come September.

"Please sit down, I'll inform Rastaban about your arrival and fetch some refreshment. Would you prefer some juice or iced tea?" he inquired softly after they entered the bright and large sitting room.

Leroy and Hiram nodded and looked around in the chamber, muted by their awe at the expensive and antique furniture. Their daughter was more vocal about her appreciation preventing Regulus to leave the room.

"Oh, Mr. Black! This is incredible! Is that sofa original? And those portraits! Is the whole house furnished similarly? Would you mind giving us a tour later?" she questioned rapidly, causing Regulus to wonder whether she needed to breathe or not.

"Rachel," Leroy chided gently, but his amusement was more prominent than his disapproval. "Sweetheart, don't bother, Mr. Black."

"I'm sure he's not bothered," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not bothering you, Mr. Black, am I?"

"Of course not," Regulus forced out, his easy-going mask slipping a bit. "But perhaps we should postpone that tour to a later date. We still have a lot of packing to do. Now, I'll be back in a moment, please make yourself at home."

He found his child in the newly finished library surrounded by rolls of parchments and big stacks of books. His slim, graceful little fingers were glowing as he played with a ball of brightly coloured light, absentmindedly changing the colour and even the shape every other second.

He was a true prodigy, Regulus wondered, wasting minutes on simply staring at his precious son, feeling searing pride course through his heart. Rastaban's tutors were just as dumbstruck by the level of power he was showing, easily coercing the fully trained wizards to teach him harder and more advanced spells with each passing day. He absorbed the magic around him with a frightening speed and unlike most children, he adored studying and learning about the theories behind each spell.

A fond smile curled Regulus' lips as he knocked on the open door, drawing Rastaban's attention to his figure and earning a curiously lifted eyebrow, his child could only learn from Lucius who seemingly showed too much interest in him these days, much to Regulus' chagrin and frustration.

"We have guests, Rastaban."

"Oh." Confusion flashed over the boy's features. "Have the Malfoys already arrived?" he asked and waved his hand, casting the _Tempus_charm silently. "That's not right. It's only half past two."

"No, my child, our guests are Muggles from our neighbourhood," Regulus admitted with a sigh. "Their daughter is a bit... overeager, but seems like a bright girl nonetheless."

"Which means she is an insufferable brat," Rastaban retorted with a shake of his head, but stood up and stretched his arms above his head. "Grandfather would curse you so bad you couldn't sit down for weeks if he were at home, you know," he added with a small smirk, linking his arms into his Papa's elbow causing Regulus to huff a disbelieving laugh.

"I'm not sure I like this new cheeky side of yours, my child," he reprimanded ruffling the neatly combed curly tresses.

"I'm being honest, Papa, you're too nice for your own good," Rastaban answered pressing a loving kiss onto Regulus' cheek earning a playful glare from the older man.

They made a detour to the kitchen to Kreacher and Remy's absolute horror and Regulus ordered them to remain out of sight after fetching the pitches of lemonade and pineapple juice and the tray of glasses he ordered on his way to the library. They found the two Berry men sitting on the bronze framed sofa while Rachel was putting up some kind of impromptu show dancing and singing in a surprisingly clear but still childish voice.

Rastaban came to a sudden halt at the sight forcing Regulus to follow suit and the older Black wizard could see the silent horror in his son's bright green eyes as he stared at the still singing and dancing girl in the centre of the room. Regulus had to admit that there was something disturbingly fascinating in the small vigorous little girl and her enthusiastic performance; it was as if she had no sense of propriety.

Hiram sent a proud but sheepish smile in their direction, yet didn't even try to make his daughter end her show. Instead he beckoned them closer, leaving no other chance to Regulus to comply and take a seat and place his still shocked child in his lap.

"Rachel has a great passion for singing," Leroy whispered just as the girl bowed to her audience, her face split in two by her smile. "Bravo, Sweetie, you were brilliant."

"Of course I was brilliant!" Rachel rolled her eyes in a brief show of annoyance, but almost instantly turned her attention to Regulus and his son, raising an eyebrow expectantly. "Well? I know my voice is flawless, but I'm always up to hear others' opinion too."

Regulus was bewildered by the snootiness of this Muggle child and found it unbelievable that she was even more spoiled than Draco Malfoy who was the epitome of impertinent little snots. Maybe her behaviour was the result of the lack of fatherly discipline, as neither Hiram nor Leroy seemed to possess the power to handle their child. Or maybe it was the fact that amongst the Muggles, homosexual couples rarely got the chance to have children of their own therefore surging the Berry couple to pamper and spoil their only child.

Reasoning aside though, Regulus doubted they would have appreciated if he had told the annoying chit off for causing such ruckus and being a self-centred, impudent little monster. "It was an... enjoyable show of talent, I have to admit," he said in the end. "However, after such performance you must be thirsty, so I thought we should have a little toast and while sipping our beverages you and Rastaban could get to know each other a bit."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be great friends!" Rachel nodded vigorously to what Rastaban shot Regulus an imploring glare, but he ignored it in favour of pouring the juice into the glasses. The Berrys smiled broadly and raised their glasses.

"To young talent and new friendships!" Regulus toasted clinking glass with his guests, inwardly feeling sorry for his child, because if Rachel Berry's look was anything to go by, Rastaban didn't stand a chance to escape her clutches... maybe ever.


	5. Part 5

_******Author's Note: **_Okay, so I know you're not really interested in my excuses which is totally understandable. I haven't really been satisfied with this chapter until now, wanting to add another scene with Lucius, but in the end I thought I'll do that in the next chapter. As for the long delay, I was kind of busy with life and my original NaNoWriMo novel (sadly I haven't managed the desired 50K words, but I made some progress at least). But now I'm back and to celebrate my Name Day, I decided to update! I'll hope you'll like this chapter and thank you for the wonderful reviews (**Sofia Ottoman** I'm thanking you here because I couldn't answer you privately), the huge amount of adds and hits.

Love you guys,

Lilith

* * *

><p><em><strong>Part V. – Black Yule<strong>_

**December the 20th 2003, Black Tower, Manhattan, New York, New York**

"Rastaban, why are you not ready?" Black lashes fluttered, but it was the only reaction of surprise the boy allowed himself to show. He looked up from his book and met his father's gaze head on. "The guests could arrive in any moment and you're sitting here crouching over yet another book."

"I apologise, Papa," Rastaban said and closed the _Tome of Rites_ with a soft sigh. "I wanted to get a head start on the essay about the effect of dementors on different species. I forgot the time."

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in silent exasperation. Rastaban felt a pang in his heart for causing distress to his father once again. He knew that his Papa blamed himself for the weight Orion had been putting on his shoulders ever since they discovered the real extent of his magical core and aptitude when Rastaban was five and wandlessly charmed the light of every candle in library green. In Rastaban's opinion the mere suggestion was ridiculous; he couldn't be grateful enough for the chance to explore the vast sea of knowledge the Black library offered.

In the end, his father only nodded, charcoal irises blazing with an inner fire that should have set the whole room aflame. "You'll finish it another time. Your grandfather is an impatient man as you know."

"Of course. I'll join you in the foyer in a few minutes." Rastaban stood up offering a half-hearted smile to his father who didn't look impressed in the least.

"I don't think so, young man. I'm coming with you."

"But Papa!" Rastaban exclaimed to what Regulus raised one of his brows, causing his child to blush and avert his gaze at the unusual and childish outburst. "I'm not an invalid," he whispered softly.

"Indeed," his father drawled and Rastaban hated that word and the acerbic tone that came with it so much because it made him feel worthless and failure whenever his Potions tutor used it after he made a mistake and realised it too late. It was a lethal weapon against coming from Professor Snape, however hearing it from his Papa it was even more painful, because he only ever used it when he was too irritated or frustrated to keep his calmness.

Rastaban swallowed against the acidic taste that pooled into his mouth, keeping his eyes on the floor and refusing to meet his father's gaze. "Grandfather and Uncle Sirius are waiting," he forced out and prevented his voice from trembling, using every ounce of his self-control.

His father wasn't angry with him, he reminded himself just as long fingers sunk into his hair silently, saying sorry because his father would never vocalise such words, at least not for something so meaningless. And Rastaban forgave him just as quietly, leaning into the touch and kissing the pale lips of the older man lovingly. It wasn't all good and forgotten, but there was no need for silent treatment and sulking when both of them were aggravated about the impending event that was about to start shortly.

They reached Rastaban's room without running into anyone and fifteen minutes later every member of the Black Household stood in the foyer of their newest home waiting for the arrival of their guests.

It was the first time since Sirius had taken over Orion's place as the Official Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black that the Blacks hosted or attended a ball. The mere rumour of the infamous Black men being once again ready to join the _Winter Season_ was enough to stir the Pureblood Society up, still it was nothing compared to the complete mass hysteria when the information of the tradition of the annual Black Yule Gala being restored was leaked.

Every paper and magazine both in Europe and the States had a field day with bits and pieces of rumours that was provided by ambitious and power hungry wizards and witches who claimed to be invited to the Gala, filling the pages with endless articles about the event, the menu, the guests and the dressing robes. Reporters and readers alike guessed who would be privileged with an invitation for real and who would become an outcast and the laugh of society by the end of the night.

_The Magical Times_ foretold five hundred guests including the several prominent American families such as the McHarty and Farraday Clans alongside with the American Chancellor of Magic, while the_ Daily Prophet_ published an interview with Cornelius Fudge who bragged about his handwritten and exceptionally tasteful invitational card that arrived two weeks before the event itself. Rastaban had a good laugh at the poor fool's expense; boasting about being invited almost as an afterthought was pitiful and something only a complete imbecile or a desperate politician would do.

Now, on the eve of the Gala, the Blacks only expected two hundred wizards and witches, sixty who they would personally welcome. Rastaban knew his duty and the radiant and openly welcoming smile was already plastered on his face. At least Theodore, Blaise and Evan Rosier were going to be there to make things moderately bearable, because the thought of enduring his Cousin Draco's spoiled brattiness alongside with the attitude of the other heirs and heiresses alone was nearly enough to drive him crazy.

The "important" guests arrived first, Theodore and his brother amongst them, and Rastaban could feel his father's approving gaze when he smiled at the mahogany haired boy who he came to see as a friend in the last nine and a half months. Thaddeus sent a shy smile to Sirius who returned it with a cheeky grin, encouraging the attraction that sparked between them after one of their first meetings. Rastaban watched the brief encounter subtly, but still noting every little sign of emotion on his uncle's face that belied his flirty smiles and borderline inappropriate touches. Sirius was playing along flawlessly and from what Rastaban had seen, there was no doubt that he liked the younger Lord, but his feelings were nearly not as strong as his gestures intended to show it.

Rastaban chanced a glance at his friend, but Theodore's expression was smooth and unreadable, not sharing any of his thoughts about the situation. Well they had the whole night in front of them to talk and exchange opinions.

He was introduced to every notable member of the pureblood elite, smiling and complimenting the guests with more flourish than he had months ago. The Davieses, the Flints, Madam Bones and her niece; families with heirs and heiresses his age or barely older than him were looking for a chance to have a piece of his family. After them came Lady Zabini and her newest conquest followed by Blaise whose act was as perfect as it had been the last time they met.

They exchanged polite greetings and he kissed Lady Zabini's hand before the Greengrasses and the Montagues were announced; the youngest of the four children looked bashfully at Rastaban, dark chocolate eyes open and innocent despite the boy's gangly form and wide shoulders. From what Theodore had told him in his last letter he learned that Graham was a first year Slytherin at Hogwarts and belonged to the Flint Heir's – who was a second year Slytherin – small circle alongside with Adrian Pucey, the second son of the relatively New Blood Pucey Family, and Evan's baby brother, Damien.

The Malfoys arrived after the blubbering British Minister of Magic and the much more dignified American Chancellor, dressed to intimidate and breed envy in the hearts of the lesser nobles. Rastaban caught his Papa's lips twitch upward before that whisper of a derisive smirk turned into a pleased and joyous smile. Hugs and kisses – restored for family only – were traded and Orion offered his arm to his niece, leading the family to the ballroom and leaving the duty to greet the remaining three families – including Evan and his little brother – to his sons and grandson.

"What a stunning social butterfly you make, Regulus." Golden fell to the middle of the young man's back, framing a haughtily handsome face and liquid bronze eyes. In Rastaban's opinion he was the most breath-taking man on Earth, and currently the most eligible bachelor after Rastaban's uncle and father.

"Good evening to you too, _Evan_," Regulus retorted coolly. "I hope you will have a good time."

"You can't be still hung up on that little incident that happened the other day," the blond pressed, but younger Black brother just ran his hand through Rastaban's hair steering Lord Rosier's attention to him. "As beautiful as ever, huh, my dear?" he purred dropping a kiss to the boy's forehead. "Were I just a few years younger, my sweet Lycoris, your hand would be mine–"

"That's enough, Rosier," Sirius bit out frostily, stormy eyes thundering with barely restrained rage.

"As I said, sadly I'm too old to court your _nephew_, Sirius," Evan sighed dramatically, but he had the nerve to wink at Rastaban who felt like his face was on fire. "But I'd be careful, my friend, there are families with younger heirs and heiresses and lower morals; they'll do anything to gain the little one and the power and status that come with him."

Rastaban rolled his eyes and interrupted before his Papa and Uncle could have come up with another acidic retort. "Your concern is touching, Evan, but I'd worry about my own brother's status and purity if I were you."

The twenty-year-old chuckled darkly, bronze orbs sparkling viciously as he hugged his silent, but attentive sibling closer to his side. "Only a fool would think they're worthy of such treasure." His words felt like the sharpest velvet covered blade on Rastaban's skin, yet the Black Heir didn't back down and held the man's gaze defiantly.

"And only a complete madman who lost their mind would believe they could handle a hurricane such as our beloved little serpent," Sirius quipped sharply. "Rest assured, Rosier, your brother is going to be safe with my nephew."

"I'm not worried in the least, my friend," Evan smirked and turned to Regulus. "I hope you'll grant me a dance."

Rastaban saw as his father's jaw clenched, fighting the anger, and was awed at the dignity and poise he answered, "Of course, Evan. It would be an honour."

"Splendid!" the blond wizard beamed. "And of course a dance from our future Lord is in order too."

"Don't–"

"Indeed," Rastaban drawled, a small smirk curling his lips at the subtle flinch of the man around him; Snape's sarcasm seemed to find them even in the dour man's absence.

The Rosier brothers nodded and walked through the doors, allowing the last couple to be introduced. Rastaban smiled and played along according to his role, knowing there would be more people who wanted to know him, more children to watch and analyse. But for a while at least, he still had time to spend with his friends and acquaintances in peace, away from the prying eyes of the adults.

Every underage wizard and witch was herded into two separate chambers until the dance began, and Rastaban had to struggle to remember all of their names despite the information he had been provided with weeks ago. The wizards' chamber opened from the witches' room therefore Rastaban had to endure a few minutes of mindless chit-chat with the attending girls his age.

The Greengrass Heiresses greeted him with a wide smiles and tried to ensnare his attention with sweet words, while Susan Bones offered a silent blush and bashful glances from the midst of the Mcharty sisters' giggles and the Farraday Heiress' coy lashes. He bid them a good evening, inwardly happy that he hadn't reached the age of puberty which meant it wasn't required of him to chance with every available maiden and bachelor.

At last he reached Theo and the "Hogwarts Delegation", noting the way Marcus Flint held Graham Montague around his waist as they lounged on one of the lush sofas. Damien was sitting on the brutish boy's other side, chatting with Blaise amicably. Rastaban nodded to the boys and took the only empty armchair next to Theodore and across from Roger Davies who was currently talking to Draco and Jonathan, Graham's only underage brother, about Quiddich if their gestures were anything to go by.

"Who else is expected to show up?" Theodore asked in a muted voice, his gaze sweeping over Rastaban's black and amethyst coloured velvet covered form like a welcoming caress.

Rastaban shrugged elegantly, half of his attention never leaving the other guests around them. "Tristan Delacroix, a French acquaintance of mine, should join us in an hour or two alongside with the Krum and Volkov Heirs," he listed, trying to remember every name his Papa shared with him. "The Prince patriarch also accepted the invitation, he is also bringing his grandnephew and niece with him. And of course there are the Wilkinson, Browning and Grayson Families with their children."

"Maximilian Prince is gonna be here?" Jonathan Montague piped in, his face lit up with shocked excitement. "That man is a legend!"

Glowing green irises flickered in the thirteen-year-old's direction, causing both him and his brother to blush in embarrassment.

"Please forgive John," Graham murmured softly. "He didn't mean to intrude on your conversation."

"It's all right," Rastaban said with a small wave of his hand. The conversation wasn't exactly private, and there was no need to alienate potential allies, especially ones that lived and studied in the States like Jonathan Montague. "And to answer your question," here he turned to the older boy who was smiling brightly and just as innocently, "yes Lord Prince is on the guest list. He and Grandfather went to school together."

"Man, that's so cool!" Jonathan crowded earning frowns and disapproving looks from the other boys and a glower from Marcus Flint who pulled the violently blushing Graham closer to him. "I love potions and the man is a pure genius!"

If every student who attended Salem Academy of Magic was such disgrace of the Wizard name, Rastaban could understand why his father and grandfather decided to home school him. It was strange to see how great the difference between the two brothers was, but then again the Montagues were famous – or more likely infamous – of raising their children by rather liberal ethics.

He exchanged a quick look with Theodore and chose not to comment on the elder Montague boy's almost plebeian and mundane behaviour. If he wanted to be honest, spending years – especially the last few months thanks to a certain Rachel Berry – amongst Muggle children with mediocre skill and next to no manners made the lack of hidden meanings and manipulations kind of nice. Sadly, being simple and honest didn't make up for acting like an uncouth stable boy.

"Unfortunately, I haven't been introduced to Lord Prince yet, as he prefers his solitude." Jonathan's shoulders sagged in disappointment.

"Don't I know? His granddaughter is in a few of my classes, but she wouldn't even look at us lesser humans." The honey haired teen's bitter sneer was the first thing that resembled of anything remotely pureblood-like – aside from his fine robes and neatly combed tresses.

Flint snorted, drawing the attention to himself. "Why would anyone lower themselves to the level of a moron like you?" he growled, his unattractive features twisting into something barely human.

Jonathan's jaw dropped in astonishment and his dark eyes filled with hurt, yet he surprised Rastaban with maintaining a fairly even tone. "I might be less... _distinguished_ than the lots of you, but at least before I have enough conscience not to smile into someone's face before I slaughter them," he retorted rigidly, instantly ruffling the young lordlings' feathers.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Roger Davies demanded angrily, his face red and transparent with his emotions.

"I resent your accusations–" Damien added, but was interrupted by Jonathan's mocking voice.

"I resent your accusations!" he parroted snidely. "Why don't you simply say what's in your mind instead of wrapping a simple "Fuck you!" into a–"

"That's enough!" Rastaban cut in coldly, glaring at his companions from his seat before he pinned Jonathan with a cutting stare. "I won't tolerate such foul language in my presence. It might be acceptable amongst _your_ peers, but you are humiliating your brother and shaming your family with this attitude."

The older wizard blinked at him, obviously dumbfounded by Rastaban's reprimand. "I was just trying to be honest," he argued.

"You can be honest without turning your companions against you and cursing like some common beggar," Rastaban shot back. "Maybe instead of letting the Muggle influence turn you into an inarticulate brute, you should spend more time on polishing your manners and learning some etiquette, so Miss Prince wouldn't ignore your very presence."

"Dude, you sure act like an old geezer! No offence!" Jonathan exclaimed in wonder making Graham hide his face in Flint's robes and Draco glower. Theodore simply sighed in exasperation while Blaise almost stilled unnaturally as he watched the situation unfold.

Rastaban refrained from echoing his friend's sigh and for the sake of peace, he decided to take the blatant insult with good humour. "Thank you for the compliment." He smirked lightly. "My grandfather is an admittedly wise man who tends to know what he is talking about."

Draco snickered obscurely and shot a smug look at the grinning Montague boy, but didn't comment just like he hadn't said anything during the whole obstacle. Hopefully, it meant that the young Malfoy was learning some much needed humility and restrain; cousin or not, Rastaban had no need for spoiled brats as allies, and if Narcissa was just half as sensible as she seemed to be, she would stop letting his son getting away with everything.

"So you're ten, right?" Jonathan asked curiously.

"Yes, I'm turning eleven on the 31st."

"Cool! I'll sure–" The older boy stopped and frowned at his knees for a second before he continued. "Sorry, what I wanted to say was that I'd be happy to be your mentor when you come to Salem next year."

"You are going to attend Salem Academy?" Draco accused, an angry scowl twisting his pointed face. Usually silvery eyes turned stormy, completed with invisible lightning bolts, reminding Rastaban of the picture of a Veela on the brink of changing forms. "But you said Uncle Regulus decided to home school you!"

"Draco." Dark fingers curled around the blonde's hand, gently forcing him to turn to Blaise who only needed to raise an eyebrow to make his anger deflate.

"I'm sorry, _Cousin_." The manipulating little snake emphasised on the relationship between the two of them, making it impossible for Rastaban to act on his growing irritation. "I was merely shocked by Montague's assurance in your choice of education."

"If my father had changed his mind, _obviously_ you would already know about it, Cousin," he retorted mercilessly, enjoying the Malfoy Heir's small flinch at the jibe. It didn't go unnoticed that he disregarded the not even half-honest apology. However, with the apparent familiarity between the two of them, no one could accuse him of being rude, after all, it was only natural that family forgave each other.

"So you're not coming to Salem?"

Rastaban tore his gaze away from the fuming Draco and turned to Jonathan who looked really downtrodden. A true Gryffindor if he ever saw one, he mused as he opened his mouth to answer. "I'm afraid, I'm not. The curriculum while interesting in segments, is not up to my standards."

"Hogwarts' curriculum has very big holes in it too," Roger Davies commented unknowingly starting a very heated argument between the occupants of the room.

Another course of appetisers was served and the crystal flutes refilled while the older wizards compared their schools and bragged about the virtues of their respective Alma Mater. It left the younger children to form their own circles of conversations and allowed Rastaban the opportunity to talk to Theo without at least another twenty eager ears and eyes to listen in and watch on uninvited.

"Is everything alright? You look troubled," the brunet inquired softly, long fingers touching Rastaban's hand that lay on the railing of the balcony timidly.

Green eyes looked out at the huge skyscrapers that surrounded them, conflicting emotions fighting within his heart, His conscience urged him to share his suspicions with his friend, yet instead of confiding in Theo, he simply offered a wane smile and intertwined his fingers with the other boy's bigger ones. Because no matter how much he wanted to, Theodore was not family, and a True Black would never betray their family.

"I'm still not good at playing the doting host," he lied, his lips quirking ruefully, earning an amused chuckle.

"I wouldn't say that," Theodore argued. "You handled Montague better than anyone, even Blaise could have."

Rastaban shrugged, his face felt uncomfortably warm, at the compliment. "I did nothing more than what was expected from me."

"Rastaban, you basically forced him to change with a few well placed words," the Nott Heir stated, curling his free hand around the smaller wizard's face, gently urging him to look him in the eyes. "Knowing the _reputation_ of the Montagues and _that_ school, it's a feat no one should have expected from you."

"You are exaggerating," Rastaban accused with a mild glare. He felt flustered and Theo's hand felt really warm on his face, while his gaze seemed to see through him; it made the raven haired boy anxious.

"You don't see it now, but your will alone will be enough to force the world to its knees." Theo sounded oddly solemn.

Rastaban wanted to reply and tell his friend that the world would become his one day, but unlike Draco, he didn't lack common sense and found bragging beneath him. No, he would learn and practice to become stronger, so when the time was finally right, he would be able to take the place that was his by birthright with grace.

"Am I interrupting something?" A gruff voice interrupted his thoughts, and he could barely refrain from jumping away from his friend's hold that must have looked quite inappropriate from an outsider's point of view.

"Flint," Theo lifted an eyebrow, but lowered his back to his side. "Did you need something?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Nott," Marcus practically snarled. "My words are for Black and no one alse."

"If you think, I'll live him alone with you–"

"I can handle myself, Theodore," Rastaban cut in coolly, emerald irises flashing with silent power. "Why don't you join Draco and Blaise? We can continue our conversation at a later date." Despite the wording his tone left no doubt that he'd just given an order. And maybe there was something in what Theo said, because the Nott Heir, while he pursed his lips in displeasure, went back to the sitting room the underage wizards occupied.

"You have some nerve, I have to admit," Flint hummed, his cold glare intimidating and vicious. "Being alone with me and all..."

Rastaban's lips quirked upwards in a sardonic smirk. He refused to give in to the monstrous teen's threatening stance. "You are a remarkable wizard, Flint," he said simply, causing the other to scowl.

"I could break you scrawny, pretty little neck with my bare hands."

"But you won't." Strangely enough he was confident in that Marcus would do nothing. "So if you're quite finished with this unbecoming posturing, we might proceed to the real reason you came after me."

Flint growled. "You insufferable little brat." Rastaban raised an unimpressed eyebrow which made the older boy's chest to rumble with another menacing growl before he averted his black eyes and muttered. "I want a dance."

"Your manners are abhorring."

"Yes or no?"

Rastaban took in the dark, not even remotely attractive face and impressive body that towered over his petit form without effort. Marcus Flint couldn't be called handsome by any means and an astonishing amount of anger adjoined to his plain appearance, but if what he'd seen was anything to go by, the teen protected the ones close to him with an admirable fierceness. And it was that strong protectiveness that made him nod in affirmation after painfully long minutes of pondering.

"You may have a dance," he said slowly. "However, you owe me."

"I owe you?"

"Naturally. What did you expect? That I would allow you to talk to with me like I was dirt on the sole of your shoe?" Rastaban's tone turned ice cold and his eyes hardened showing him much older than his age.

"And what do you want from me?" Flint snapped, dark eyes ablaze with fury.

"Nothing. Yet." Rastaban added when the other opened his mouth to come up with another barked insult. "But don't worry, I'll let you know when I need... your services."

"Sneaky little bitch," Marcus gritted out, but instead of stalking off, he offered his arm which the younger wizard accepted with a nod.

"I'm a Black, I've been learning from the best," he replied, allowing his new... ally to lead him back to the room.

Shortly after the arrival of the rest of the guests – thirty-one underage wizards and nineteen witches were amongst them – dinner was served in the Grand Dining Hall. The Blacks shared the head table with the Malfoys, Notts, Zabinis, Krums and Lord Prince whose stern, regale expression never changed, He bore a great resemblance to his grandson with his bottomless black eyes and dour features, but no one dared mention the shame of his daughter and the reason he couldn't be welcomed as a privileged guest ever again.

The courses were tasteful, but screamed of the family's high standing, and the conversations were amicable and consisted of nothing of importance. Orion entertained his companions, while Sirius flirted with Thaddeus; Rastaban watched the act through hooded lids, trying to ignore the acidic burn of guilt in his stomach. His uncle's own growing attraction was his only consolation, because there was just no chance those grey eyes could fake the light of fondness he had only ever seen when the older wizard visited him.

Still, the nagging feeling that something tricky was going on didn't disappear. Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy didn't care about his troubles and during the main course, he decided he had enough of listening on in the adult's conversation, and chose Rastaban to keep him amused.

"What did Flint want from you?" he demanded quietly between bites of honeyed golden potato.

"A friendly chat."

At the barely suppressed choked sound, Lucius glanced their way from across the table, his silver eyes imploring and held a warning that made Draco double his efforts to stifle his coughs. He stared at Rastaban, his red face accusing.

"He is a brainless thug," the blond whispered hoarsely, "but strong."

"Your worry is touching, Cousin, but unfounded," the black haired boy murmured, holding up his polite facade for the adults' sake. "Marcus was perfectly gentlemanly and only asked for a dance later."

The Malfoy son looked outraged, but was smarter than to cause a scene. Rastaban was satisfied even with this small progress. Draco was still too rash and spoiled rotten, however, the Black Heir was determined to make a honourable Black out of him, considering the fact they were the only ones who had the chance to continue the line. From what he heard the other day, when Orion escorted Lucius to the door after another one of their monthly meeting, his grandfather had similar thoughts.

He tilted his head to the side slightly, and after trading a sideway glance with his Papa, he asked, "Would you honour me with a dance?"

Twin spots of pink painted Draco's cheeks, but after the initial shock of being asked, he stuck his nose in the air and put on his best arrogant facade. "It's expected of us," he drawled.

"My pleasure." Aunt Narcissa smiled approvingly, alongside with Rastaban's grandfather.

Grey eyes narrowed, but instead of commenting on the barely hidden sarcasm in Rastaban's tone he started talking about the new broom his father promised to get him for Yule, successfully including an awkwardly silent Viktor Krum who still had problems with the language, but was the youngest member of Durmstrang's Quiddich team.

After dinner, Orion and Sirius officially opened the ball. Rastaban's grandfather took his niece to the dance floor while Sirius danced with Thaddeus Nott, showing off their budding relationship and causing the wizards and witches around them to start whispering. There was no doubt that their romance would be on the front page of every newspaper next day. A stiff shouldered Regulus was led to the dance floor by Lucius, and Rastaban took Draco's hand in his own to keep up the perfect picture, filing the look of scarcely veiled desperation in his father's eyes away for later analysis.

Soon the dance floor was packed with couples and simple dancing partners, and the mood became spirited. The air filled with laughter, coy smiles, and flirting looks were exchanged while the teenaged witches and wizards blushed and stuttered, or acted cocky and arrogant in their effort to hide their nerves. Rastaban silently thanked his forefathers for being too young to care about courting or the obligation of dancing with every available person in the room.

The night progressed wonderfully, and it turned out that Marcus Flint was an adequate dancer in spite of his scowls and Neanderthalic manners. Rastaban watched as Evan moulded his Papa's steps without an effort, disregarding Regulus' stony expression and dangerously glinting charcoal eyes while Lucius glared with frosty contempt at the back of the blond haired wizard over the brim of his glass.

All in all, the Gala was a great success, however, for the Blacks it was just another step that brought them closer to their goal.


	6. Part 6

******Author's Notes: **_SO I totally forgot I had this chapter finished and then RL happened which sucks because I still should be studying extra hard for my exams instead of writing, but I was looking through my stories when I found this chapter alongside with the 7th which only needs another scene to be finished. Not to mention school is over in 3 weeks which means I'll finally be able to write as much as I want and can. Nonethless, I hope you'll like this chapter after the long wait especially because I'm bringing in two more Glee characters. As for replying your reviews, I'll do it as soon as I can, possibly tomorrow or later today, depending on how quickly I'm done with my chores. However, I'm still eager to know what you think of the chapter!  
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><p><em><strong>Part VI. – Cheerleading Charm<strong>_

**December the 31st 2003, 12th Grimmauld Place, London, England**

Lucius couldn't say he was surprised when Regulus opted for inviting only a handful of close friends instead of holding a birthday party for his son's eleventh birthday; he was beyond paranoid when it came to Rastaban, not that Lucius couldn't understand that. The boy's prowess was incredible and magic basically rolled off him in thick, heavy dark waves, enthralling everyone around him. Lucius was no fool and it was blatantly obvious how mesmerised those spoiled children were, following him around all night and fighting for the privilege to be in his presence. Rastaban was regale and way too mature for a ten - now eleven - year old boy, and he bore a silent commanding force Draco could never even hope to acquire. It should have frustrated Lucius, the outrageous contrast between his heir and Regulus' son, yet he couldn't help but adore the quiet child genius nearly as much as he loved and desired his graceful and stubborn Raven King.

Lucius' jaw clenched at the thought of Regulus and the distorted bond that entwined their souls, shackling Regulus to him for an eternity without doing the same with Lucius. But the link was there, fragile and faint, easily shadowed by the bond that tied Lucius to another, a cunning, cunning woman who expected nothing less than absolute loyalty; something Lucius despised her for more than anything, except for maybe his father who offered him on a silver platter to gain more power, but certainly more than the Dark Lord who almost destroyed his family and life. At some point in the past, he might have admired her and her radiant elegance, but she could never measure up to his King and the age old emotions that had built between them during their play dates even if they had felt more like babysitting sessions at that time.

His eyes involuntarily found Regulus' dark blue robe covered frame, noting how his expression softened when Rastaban came up to him, saying or asking something to what Regulus only nodded and ran his hand through the child's hair in reassurance. However, Lucius could still see the tense lines of his shoulders, as if Regulus could sense the power of Lucius' stare, but refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking in his direction. Instead he opted for conversing with that pompous bastard Rosier, not pulling away when the disgusting parasite dared to grab his elbow, fingers stroking up and down on the rich fabric.

"I think Papa will be most displeased if you break one of his beloved crystal goblets." Lucius' free hand reflexively shot to his wand as a soft voice wafted over his ears out of nowhere, instantly followed by an amused chuckle no less quiet than the words beforehand.

He tore his gaze away from that scum who was openly flirting with Lucius' Bonded and turned to face an inquiringly watching Rastaban Black. "It's quite impolite to sneak upon someone like you just did," he drawled coolly, but the child wasn't deterred in the slightest.

"Are you implying that I surprised you?" Rastaban retorted, the beginning of a smirk touching the corner of his lips.

"Of course not. I merely stated the rudeness of your action in hope you will learn from it," Lucius quipped back, feeling ridiculously unbalanced beneath the thunderous power that radiated from Rastaban's emerald green eyes.

"Ah, but according to Professor Snape stealth is a very useful weapon against your enemies." Rastaban's gaze was almost challenging, but not quite, keeping his expression respectful and unreadable. Lucius couldn't help but admire the boy's control over his emotions even if his words irked him to no end.

"Do you think I'm your enemy?" he inquired, allowing a whisper of frostiness to touch his tone.

Rastaban's smile seemed almost snakelike as he stared at Lucius, causing dread to fill the older wizard's chest. "Are you my enemy, _Uncle _Lucius?" The child's tone was still quiet and light, but the look in his suddenly dead cold eyes told Lucius without doubt that he knew and would never forgive him for what he had done to Regulus. They stared at each other, the seconds passing in accusing silence, and for the first time since taking the Malfoy lordship, Lucius found that he had no excuse or explanation for his actions. His declaration of never ending love and cursed loyalty would mean nothing, still Lucius felt like he had to assure the boy of his feelings no matter how much it pained him to lower himself to such plebeian thing.

"I would never do anything to deliberately-"

"Please don't insult my intelligence with your feeble half-truths," Rastaban cut in, but his attention had already slipped away, resting on his godfather's rigid back who was currently standing by the fireplace having a seemingly less than friendly conversation with his own father. "But remember this, whatever you might think, you don't have forever." He didn't wait for answer, just walked away joining Draco and the other young heirs who were chatting and had been sneaking glances at them in the corner of the room, leaving Lucius to contemplate what he had just learnt.

He looked down at the empty goblet in his hand, noting the intricate patterns that decorated the artfully polished crystal. If what Rastaban had said was true, and it must have been because neither Sirius nor Orion had hunted him down, then Regulus had kept their bond even from his family. A part of Lucius was somewhat grateful for that, while the part that was burning with desire and need to acknowledge Regulus as his was outraged. To ease his mind of the heavy thoughts, his gaze wandered over to the set of love seats where his wife was engaged in a cordial chat with Madam Montague and Lady Flint, revelling in the feeling of outright gloating; he knew perfectly well how much she hated both women. Sadly for her, they were the only witches whose husbands managed to form some sort of close bonds with the Black Family, aside from Lady Zabini of course, but the Black Widow was absent that evening. Rumour had it she was attending the infamous Hoarfrost Soire in Milan, but according to a very self-satisfied looking Narcissa - who heard it from Orion - she only mentioned a family event in her RSVP, so there was a great chance the entire debacle was just something to feed the ever vulturous gossip mongers.

Either way neither she nor her son was present, leaving Draco in a funk and in even more desire to somehow draw young Rastaban's attention away from the Nott Heir. Lucius allowed himself a nearly inaudibly sigh at his son's indiscretion and lack of stealth. It didn't matter how much time he spent on teaching Draco the ways of a proper heir, the boy was headstrong as a rampant hippogriff, not to mention ever since their first meeting, was obsessed with Rastaban because the other boy didn't fall to his feet worshipping the ground he was walking on. Hopefully, with time and the great distance that Hogwarts provided his interest would be piqued by something else, making him forget his childish infatuation with his cousin.

Lucius attention was drawn to the Flint Heir and his possessive hold on Graham Montague as they walked away from the great French windows they had been standing by chatting with one of Graham's older brothers. He had no doubt that the budding romance that was based on the young Montague Heir's bashfulness and Flint's beast-like possessive passion would be strong enough to defy the will of Wilhelm Flint and his plan to betroth Marcus to the Brunswick Heiress. They would never fall in the trap of an unloving marriage, however, before Lucius could have delved deeper in the rapidly approaching morose thoughts, a small hand touched on his shoulder demanding his attention.

"Don't even think about it, Lucius," Narcissa whispered coldly, her ice coloured eyes cutting into him cruelly. "_Cousin_ Regulus wants Rastaban to cut the cake now and your spacing out is most disgraceful, especially at such important moment."

Lucius' jaw clenched to prevent him from saying something unforgivable and opted for rising from his seat instead. He offered his elbow to his wife, not looking at the witch for a second as they walked over to the dining room where the other guests had already gathered around the table. Charcoal eyes met his lighter gaze for a second, before Regulus turned back to his perfectly reserved son who was waiting patiently at the head of the table. He didn't show the slightest sign of eagerness for being allowed to cut his own cake or for being the centre of attention, he simply stood next to his father's chair looking around the room with mild interest.

The cake - a moderately big and beautifully decorated chocolate fudge cake with a white chocolate lace pattern and miniaturised flowers and animated birds carved out of orange on the top - appeared out of thin air. It floated toward Rastaban who was smiling softly and openly holding his father's hand, something that would have been unimaginable in any other household. "Ah, no candles," he murmured quietly, but in the expectation filled silence everyone could clearly hear his words.

"We can't have you wishing for world domination too soon, you know," Sirius spoke up from the other end of the table earning jovial laughter from the audience. Lucius smiled thinly, but unlike the others, who were left wondering, he heard the small warning in the Black Lord's tone. "You'd turn our entire world into one big library."

"It would be tragic, I'm sure, Uncle Sirius," Rastaban answered, rolling his gleaming green eyes in what seemed like fond resignation. Sirius flashed him a wide grin in return, making Lucius question Orion's decision when he named his eldest son the Head of the House. "There are many things I could say, expressing my gratitude alongside with making resolutions and wishes, however, I will not bore you with such nonsense. I have only one resolution as the future Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black to make. Your decision to form a bond with the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, pledging your loyalty and allegiance to the family is invaluable and in exchange I, as the future Head of the House, promise you that as long as your loyalty doesn't waver, you have my family's power behind your backs."

Lucius watched as the boy raised his newly purchased wand - ash, eleven and a half inches with thestral hair for its core, or so Draco had told him - touching the tip to the inner side of his left wrist cementing his vow just like his uncle had done when they formed the already existing pacts between the Black, Malfoy, Nott and Zabini families years ago. The gesture was honourable and generous, securing the connection for the future generation of their Houses. Unbeknownst to the satisfied looking lords and ladies, it also sealed the beginning of a new era for the Pureblood Society, and Lucius would have a front row seat to watch as the world exploded around the ignorant poor sods' heads.

He allowed himself a subtle glance at Regulus, whose expression was soft and proud, but barely hid the wicked gleam that shone deep down in his charcoal eyes. Oh yes, the Wizarding World as they knew would burn to its ashes, only to reborn and soar to heights unknown to the magical race. The only question was whether the road would be paved with freshly shed blood and agony or pride and acceptance.

**January the 6th 2004, Elmwood Elementary School, Lima, Ohio**

Rastaban bit back an annoyed sigh as someone called after him just as he stepped out of the boys' lockers room. He was tired and sore thanks to Captain Wilson who had taken great delight in making him fight against every sixth graders in the Fencing Club just because he had been five minutes late. Which was entirely Berry's fault, as the girl didn't know how to shut her mouth and just kept whining and complaining about her useless vocal coach or whatever - never mind they were standing in front of said vocal coach's classroom with her on the other side of the door - and by the time she let his arm go and disappeared behind the door of the Music room Rastaban had no chance arriving to practice in time.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Rastaban turned around to face the owner of the voice that intended to sound both sultry and authoritative but only managed to grate on his already frayed nerves, seeing a girl in a frilly blue and white skirt and a sleeveless top that were parts of the cheerleader uniform walking towards him. She was really pretty with her dark hair, tan skin, however she was rather short for her age, not that it hindered her in climbing the social ladder. As someone who was not interested in getting involved in a horde of Muggle children's silly power games, it was no wonder Rastaban didn't know her name. She wasn't in his class either, although still in the same year, which made him wonder what could she have wanted from him, considering they had never met before. He did not question how she knew his name though; being the small cow town Lima was, everyone knew and loved to talk about the illustrious Black family much to Rastaban's dismay.

She stopped before him, her posture screaming of aggression and too much pride. She offered a perfectly calculated promising smirk, telling Rastaban her intentions without uttering a word and causing him to withheld a pained groan. It seemed like refuting the cheerleader captain's disturbingly frank and obtuse advances wasn't enough to deter others from approaching him. Naturally, mingling with Muggle children had taught him that they didn't hold the same values and had much laxer morals than their magical counterparts, nonetheless he couldn't understand what a bunch of ten-year-olds could possibly offer to each other when it came to relationships. They threw the word dating around, holding hands for a day then fluttered over to another person, acting and some of them even dressing like teenagers, as if it was completely normal behaviour for children their age. It was perplexing and dangerous, something that made Rastaban immensely happy that he was a wizard and had the chance to learn what propriety and holding up traditions meant.

"Yes?" Rastaban inquired, when the girl continued to stare at him without attempting to speak up.

"You, me and Britt at the movies on Friday," she drawled lazily, trying to sound already bored with the entire conversation, but her giddily gleaming eyes gave her away almost instantly. "Pick us up at five."

Rastaban raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her before he looked down at his wristwatch to check the time. Did the girl think that he was an idiot? Of course he was not an expert on the nature of women, but from what he had seen so far he could tell that there was no woman - witch or mundane - that would ever tolerate being courted alongside with another woman. Except if said women were more interested in each other than in the man courting them. Which, if the intense, almost vulturous look in the girl's dark brown eyes was anything to go by, must have been the case. The realisation caused his lips to curl up into a tiny little smirk; he would enjoy playing with this condescending little chit.

"What's in it for me?" he asked, causing the girl's eyes to narrow.

"Are you a retard?" she retorted, folding her arms in front of her flat chest. "You have the chance to date the hottest girls at this hellhole and you have to ask what's in it for you?"

"The visual appeal might be enough for the ignorant children who go to this 'hellhole' as you called it, but unlike them, I can see through your pathetic little ploy," Rastaban countered, earning a withering glare. "And let me tell you, I'm not impressed or interested."

"You saying you're too good for us?" she asked testily, but she couldn't hide her growing worry and fear over being found out.

"No," Rastaban answered with a shake of his head. He had to admit, he was a little disappointed with the girl's lack of stealthiness and wit, because for a moment it seemed like she had the potential to become an engaging character. Now, Rastaban could only see an irritating kid on the brim of throwing a tantrum for not getting her way. "I'm saying that, I'm not interested in paying for you and your _friend's_ romantic escapade. Except if you can make the awaiting boredom worth my while."

"You want me to make out with you? That's what it's all about, isn't it?" the girl snapped, scowling viciously. Still she didn't deny his accusations, which was interesting. "Should have known you're a dick like that asshole Puck."

"A girl should never use such a foul language, you know," Rastaban commented, not at all fazed by the insults or the rather amusing growl that escaped the girl's lips. "Nonetheless," he added, when she opened her mouth, probably to come up with a suitable cutting remark, "I was raised to respect women, and even though you act like an uncouth street rat that doesn't even know how to introduce themselves, I would never violate you in such way."

"Don't make me laugh! You're just like them, wanting the same no matter what pretty words you use for it!" she barked. "And obviously your precious mama forgot to teach you that blackmailing people is not acceptable."

Rastaban's lips curled upwards lazily; knowing how much it must have angered the girl. "Now, that's bit of an exaggeration, don't you think? After all nothing in this world is for free. And you using me as your facade is not different."

"I don't know what you are talking about," she scoffed indignantly, but her cheeks coloured in embarrassment. "I'm not a… like that."

"You're a tiny bit too late to deny the obvious," Rastaban noted calmly.

He couldn't say he understood her fear of admitting that she had feelings for another girl, after all sexual preference was not an issue in the Wizarding World, at least to most Purebloods. Of course there were families like the Flints and Crouches and probably the Davises - if the way Mr. Davis tried to force his son into dancing with every attainable female at the Yule Gala was anything to go by - who looked down on homosexuality, but to most families what mattered was adding to the power and wealth of their respective Houses and trivial things such as one's sex for that matter was not an issue when it came to marriage. But living amongst Muggles had taught him that while technologically they were a hundred times more advanced, for some reason, they still acted like they lived in the Middle Ages when it came to social roles and sexuality.

And she wasn't different either. "If you say another word, I'll punch you in the face. If someone you must be the faggot for refusing an offer like this!"

"Your big girl act is far from convincing, you know," he commented offhandedly, shifting his gear on his shoulder. "You can act like you're though and nothing can hurt you all you want, but let me tell you this; you can't fool me. So, answering the question you should have asked _after _telling me your name, you owe me. And the dress code is elegant." Rastaban didn't wait for an answer, he just turned around and left the girl to figure the meaning of his words out; his papa was probably wondering what took him so long.

**January the 9th 2004, Le Pérre Restaurant, Dayton, Ohio**

"Who's that guy?" Rastaban bit back a weary sigh at Santana Lopez's - as Berry enlightened Rastaban about one of his dates' name first thing in the next morning after his encounter with the Latino girl - preposterous attitude. Who in their right mind pointed their fingers at other people in public, in a high-end restaurant no less?

"Our chaperon for the evening," he replied dispassionately, his gaze flickering over to the secluded table across from theirs. Uncle Sirius was currently discussing something with a coyly flirting waitress, frowning and rolling his eyes at her antics, but Rastaban wasn't fooled by his overly posh act. Most of his uncle's attention was trained on them, looking out for potential danger. "You surely didn't think, my father would allow me to go out without a proper escort."

"This is so lame, and not even his hotness redeems that. I'm not a toddler!" she raved, contradicting her words by huffing and puffing like a spoiled child. "Chaperon my ass!"

The waiter, who was nearing their table, pressed his mouth together shortly and Rastaban felt the urge to follow his example. He glanced over at the dazed blonde sitting next to Santana, but she simply blinked back at him, not showing any sign of awareness to her surroundings. Just what kind of mess did he get himself into? "Lopez, lower your voice," he insisted frostily. "And try to act like a respectable young woman who knows what having proper manners means," he added when the girl opened her lips to snap back something.

"You use very strange words," Brittany commented out of nowhere just as the waiter reached them, pouring them a glass of sparkling non-alcoholic champagne, a professional but transparent smile plastered over his face. "Like my sweet kitty, Lord Tubbington. He's really cute and fluffy, you should meet him… you're a prince right?"

"Welcome to Le Pérre, Mr. Black! My name is Anthony and I will be your waiter this evening," the waiter spoke up, his mask slipping slightly. Rastaban inwardly mused whether he was new to the establishment or simply lacked the training to handle uncouth, arrogant children who had never been to a five star restaurant in their lives. "The champagne is of course on the house, and please feel free to call me if you need something. I hope you and your company will have a lovely time in our restaurant."

"Thank you, Anthony," Rastaban nodded.

"So if I want real champagne, then he'll bring it to me?" Santana quirked one of her brows, staring at her glass pointedly. "Being a super rich brat like you needs to have some extra advantage, aside from the shit load of money and posh parties, of course."

"Of course, because having money automatically means that you're above the laws," Rastaban retorted. "Why don't you look over the menu instead of showing off the extremely dark shades of grey that colour your mind?"

"For that comment alone, I'm going to order the most expensive stuff they offer, just so you know," she sniped, hiding her flaming cheeks behind the tasteful, cream coloured leather covered menu. "And Britt is going to have the same."

"Don't be mean, Sanny," Brittany chided softly, putting her paler and bigger hand over Santana's clenched fist that was probably creasing the menu's pages. "Prince Charming won't meet my Lord Tubbington and Lord Tubbington will be sad."

Rastaban blinked, admitting himself that he didn't understand a thing of what the blonde girl had just said. Of course he had heard some of the rumours circulating the school's halls, but none of them was as far fetched as Brittany's theory. Him being the most featured heroic character of fairy tales? Draco would have died laughing if he had heard such absurdity. Still, Brittany seemed so eager and sure of her delusions, and Rastaban had been raised to be respectful to women no matter their background or age.

"It's very flattering that you think so highly of me," he said, suppressing a wince when Brittany only stared at him without the slightest comprehension. "But I'm no prince."

"Yeah, Britt, he's just ridiculously rich brat who likes using posh, big words," Santana added her two cents, grinning smugly before she raised her flute to her lips, sipping her champagne.

"But he has a sword, I've seen it!" Brittany argued, cocking her head to the side. "And seen him in your mom's mag, you know in that pretty one with the hot models and awesome clothes we want but not big and rich enough to have."

Santana's lips pursed in irritation and anger, but amazingly enough instead of biting her friend's head off, she just sighed and turned her hand over, gently linking their fingers. "Of course I know," she murmured. "But he's really not a prince. What would a prince be doing in Lima?"

"Hiding from reporters? Or bad men? But you know that only princes have swords! We saw it in _The Little Mermaid _and _Sleeping Beauty_."

Of course Rastaban was familiar with what Muggles called fairy tales. Even though he had grown up on _The Tales of Beadle the Bard _and legends of the Old Gods and the Great Mother, he made sure he was educated in everything Muggle when his father first sent him to elementary school. He didn't particularly like them, finding the fair princesses and heroes who after falling in the trap of the story's villain saved the day and got said princesses mostly mediocre and repetitively boring. Although he had to admit that the original version of _The Little Mermaid_ was an interesting and refreshing reading after endless pointless happy endings and sappy romance. However, he doubted Brittany was thinking about the same version, not that Rastaban was in a hurry to tell her that he thanks to the heavy magical concentration his home and in his blood, he had never seen any of the movies most of the children were so fond of.

Instead he put on a polite smile, not in the least intimidated by Santana's death glare, and looking into Brittany's slightly hazed but bright eyes he said, "I have yet to watch _Sleeping Beauty_, would you mind to enlighten me?"

"How can you not seen it?" It seemed the decoy worked splendidly, because she had already forgotten her observation about Rastaban's status as a royalty. "It has the prettiest princess in it and Sanny told me that she totally looks like me! Right Sanny?"

"Of course, Britt," Santana nodded, squeezing her best friend's hand and cutting another withering glare to Rastaban at the same time. "Now, where is that waiter? I'm hungry and the food better be more than the fancy morsel sized shit these posh places usually serve."

Rastaban didn't reply verbally, but he raised his hand calling their waiter over in hope to placate the fire-breathing monster sitting across him. Anthony was all false smiles and pleasantries while eying Santana's obviously cheap dress with disdain. "We'd like to order," Rastaban, the only one who noticed the looks, stated coldly, immediately drawing the waiter's full attention to him.

"Of course, of course! I would be more than glad to recommend-"

"We are perfectly capable of deciding for ourselves, thank you." Anthony's expression turned sour for a second at being interrupted, his professional mask slipping once again, however Rastaban had never tolerated when adults tried to talk to him like he was a mindless toddler, acting patronising and all-knowing, and he was not going to start now. "Santana, Brittany, what would you like to eat?"

"I want eggplant cream soup with fresh toast and after that grilled goose liver filled with this posh foreign cheese and bacon on a vegetable bed and topped with plum sauce. And I want the vegetables to be cut like flowers," Santana ordered tartly, her nose stuck in the air and somehow she managed to stare down the highly irritated waiter in spite of the height difference between them. "I'll decide the dessert later."

"Anything else?" Anthony asked, his smile stretched thin.

"Any chance I get real champagne?"

"We do not serve alcohol to underage guests."

"Then no," the girl huffed and turned to Brittany. "What do you think Britt?"

"I want spiral fries with a chocolate shake. And a huge chocolate sundae with strawberry sauce!" Anthony blanched at her demand, outraged by the gall of it. Rastaban watched the obstacle impassively, expecting the waiter to snap in any moment.

"Sorry little girl, but we at _La Pérre_ don't serve plebeian trash like spiral fries and chocolate shake!" Anthony sniped scathingly, causing Brittany's eyes to widen and gloss over with unshed tears. "If you want to eat such disgusting things, you should have gone to a common diner."

Santana's scowl was lethal as she wound her small arms around the blonde's shoulders and all but snarled at the waiter, however it wasn't her but Uncle Sirius' stony expression that worried Rastaban. His uncle was a master of making spectacles and destroying high end facilities like _La Pérre _when he was dissatisfied with something - personally, Rastaban thought it was the infamous Walburga's teaching no matter how much Sirius denied it -, but this time it was Rastaban's battle to fight, and if someone was going to destroy the restaurant's reputation it would be him.

So instead of waiting for Uncle Sirius to get up and saunter over, saving the day while shooting of a load of clever insults, Rastaban softly cleared his throat, causing the red faced waiter to shot him a quick sideway glance, to what he lifted one of his brows; arrogant pureblood mask firmly in place. "It's a pity," he drawled, his tone bored and derisive at the same time, "because I want spiral fries and a chocolate shake too."

"M-mr. Black?" Anthony stuttered, suddenly deathly pale. "I-I…"

"I'm not interested in your excuses. My companion and I want spiral fries and chocolate shake-"

"I want that too," Santana piped in with a devilish smirk. "And stick as much fries in the shake as you can."

"Then make it three extra large shakes with fries," Rastaban nodded, daring the waiter to argue. "And if you have a problem with our order, I'm sure you're capable to notify the manager. I'd be more than delighted to have a chat with him."

"It's n-not n-necessary, Mr. Black," Anthony stammered weakly, his eyes wide with fear. "I'm sure our chef will be happy to fulfill your request."

"Very well. And don't forget the sundae either."

"Of course not!" The man hurried off, quickly disappearing behind the door that led to the kitchen allowing Rastaban to finally loosen his mask and turn his frigid smirk into a small smile.

"I'm not gonna thank you," Santana said, her arms crossed over her chest making Rastaban's smile widen. She was still an ill-mannered, conceited little chit, but he had to admit, she possessed a kind of crude charm that almost made her endearing.

"Of course not," He shrugged and sent his uncle a quick nod of reassurance to what Sirius grinned widely, pride and eagerness shining in his grey eyes. "I'm aware that you're above such menial notions."

But later that night, after the horrible experience of tasting chocolate and grease and salt laden potato at the same time, Santana turned to him and planted a firm kiss on his cheek just as she and Brittany got out of the car in front of Brittany's home. "You're still super lame with your big words and guard dogs, but I guess I could learn to tolerate you. Or whatever," she stated with her trademark scowl curling her lips and Rastaban couldn't help but laugh quietly at her rude offer of friendship.

"That's very gracious of you," was his answer, earning a sneer. "Have a good night. You too Brittany."

"Dream of sweet princesses, Prince Charming!" Brittany chirped, waving her hand excitedly. "Just not Sleeping Beauty, 'k?"

"I would never do such travesty," Rastaban agreed, his gaze never leaving Santana's pretty face. "After all, Sleeping Beauty had already found her Princess Charming."

"Get lost, asshole!" the brunette growled and slammed the car door with more force than one would expect from a girl her size.

"Feisty little thing, isn't she?" Sirius laughed from the driver's seat. "What a pity that her heart is already taken. Would have made the perfect Lady Black." Rastaban just sighed in exasperation at his uncle's immaturity.

"Why don't you tell me about the wedding plans instead of spinning rumours like an old Knockturn Alley hag?" he retorted, quickly shutting the older wizard up who spent the rest of the drive in silence, unconsciously confirming Rastaban's theories about his prenuptial doubts.


End file.
